of men's voices singing together:

"Three merry boys, and three merry boys,
And three merry boys are we,
As ever did sing in a hempen string
Beneath the gallows-tree!"

And before the bandy-legged man could chance upon a doorway in which to
stand out of the rush, they were pressed against the wall flat as cakes
by a crowd of bold apprentices in holiday attire going out to a wager of
archery to be shot in Finsbury Fields.

At first all Nick could see was legs: red legs, yellow legs, blue legs,
green legs, long legs, strong legs--in truth, a very many of all sorts
of legs, all stepping out together like a hundred-bladed shears; for
these were the Saddlers of Cheapside and the Cutters of Mincing Lane,
tall, ruddy-faced fellows, all armed with clubs, which they twirled and
tossed and thwacked one another with in sport. Some wore straw hats with
steeple-crowns, and some flat caps of green and white, or red and
orange-tawny. Some had long yew bows and sheaves of arrows decked with
garlands; and they were all exceedingly daubed in the face with dripping
cherry-juice and with cheese, which they munched as they strode along.

"What, there, Tom Webster, I say," cried one, catching sight of Cicely's
face, "here is a Queen o' the May for thee!"

His broad-shouldered comrade stopped in the way, and with him all the
rest. "My faith, Jem Armstrong, 'tis the truth, for once in thy life!"
quoth he, and stared at Cicely. Her cheeks were flushed, and her panting
red lips were fallen apart so that her little white teeth showed
through. Her long, dark lashes cast shadow circles under her eyes. Her
curly hair in elfin locks tossed all about her face, and through it was
tied a crimson ribbon, mocking the quick color of the blood which came
and went beneath her delicate skin. "My faith!" cried Tommy Webster,
"her face be as fair as a K in a copy-book! Hey, bullies, what? let's
make her queen!"

"A queen?" "What queen?" "Where is a queen?" "I granny! Tom Webster hath
catched a queen!" "Where is she, Tom?" "Up with her, mate, and let a
fellow see."

"Hands off, there!" snarled the bandy-legged man.

"Up with her, Tom!" cried out the strapping fellow at his back. "A queen
it is; and a right good smacking toll all round--I have not bussed a
maid this day! Up with her, Tom!"

"Stand back, ye rogues, and let us pass!"

But alas and alack for the bandy-legged man! He could not ruffle and
swagger it off as Gaston