g his
knife aloft, dragged back the woman's head to lay her throat the
barer, all turned to a sudden crash of cymbals; and, to the stern
marching-tune now silencing all clamours, the advance-guard of
Vespasian swung in through the gateway. . . .

So for an hour Saxon followed Roman, Dane followed Saxon, Norman
followed both. Alfred, Canute, William--all controlled (as Brother
Copas cynically remarked to Brother Warboise, watching through the
palings from the allotted patch of sward which served them for
green-room) by one small Jew, perspiring on the roof and bawling
orders here, there, everywhere, through a gigantic megaphone; bawling
them in a _lingua franca_ to which these mighty puppets moved
obediently, weaving English history as upon a tapestry swiftly,
continuously unrolled. "Which things," quoted Copas mischievously,
"are an allegory, Philip."

To the waiting performers it seemed incredible that to the audience,
packed by thousands in the Grand Stand, this scolding strident voice
immediately above their heads should be inaudible. Yet it was.
All those eyes beheld, all those ears heard, was the puppets as they
postured and declaimed. The loud little man on the roof they saw not
nor heard.

"Which things again are an allegory," said Brother Copas.

The Brethren of St. Hospital had no Episode of their own. But from
the time of the Conquest downward they had constantly to take part in
the moving scenes as members of the crowd, and the spectators
constantly hailed their entry.

"Our coat of poverty is the wear to last, after all," said Copas,
regaining the green-room and mopping his brow. "We have just seen
out the Plantagenets."

In this humble way, when the time came, he looked on at the Episode
of Henry the Eighth's visit to Merchester, and listened to the blank
verse which he himself had written. The Pageant Committee had ruled
out the Reformation, but he had slyly introduced a hint of it.
The scene consisted mainly of revels, dances, tournays, amid which a
singing man had chanted, in a beautiful tenor, Henry's own song of
_Pastime with good Companye_.--

"Pastime with good Companye,
I love and shall until I die:
Grudge who lust, but none deny,
So God be pleased, thus live will I.
For my pastance,
Hunt, sing and dance,
My heart is set.
All goodly sport
For my comfort
Who shall me let?"

With its chorus--

"Fo