ABSTRACT
mid seventeenth century Bending my head down even to my horse’s neck, I rode through the West door into the midst of the Church; Where he, stumbling, striking his hooves upon the pavers And gravestones therein, it rang like a hollow Forge, And sent the echoes leaping into the roof thereof. Thus afrighted, he gave the neigh of a fat priest At sermon-time, and did drop his dung upon the ground; Which all the Soldiers seeing did mock at us. Then they, with siege-ladders and grappling irons Climbing a window in the South aisle, with their swords Struck mightily at its lewd images of saints Which men wantonly had fashioned of painted glass, And so let God’s light into dark places. As the pieces fell, my horse did plunge again, And would have thrown me, had I not held him fast And spoke him words of comfort. Then other soldiers Seeing this example of their fellows, took their swords And other like weapons, and smote these blasphemies Until each Papish window in the South wall Was but a mass of splinters and tangled lead, Acceptable unto God. We moved that evening, Else had we cleansed them all. For even in the transept A trumpet sounded, summoning to the Market Square. I was level then with the rood-screen; with a cry I drew my sword, and setting spur to horse, Drove for the West door down the stone avenue, And with a back-stroke served at Marston Moor Sliced off one nose from that dormitory of bishops, Drew rein at the last column, and crouching, Rode into the sun to all men’s cheering. And so it ended. Ay, but that steeplehouse The hand of the Almighty shall surely pluck down, And leave not one stone standing upon another.
