'Tis the royal banner of England, crossed by the prince's label.

There he dwells in the Abbey of St.Andrew, where he hath kept his court these years back.

Beside it is the minster of the same saint, who hath the town under his very special care." "And how of yon gray turret on the left ?" "'Tis the fane of St.Michael, as that upon the right is of St.Remi.
There, too, above the poop of yonder nief, you see the towers of Saint Croix and of Pey Berland.

Mark also the mighty ramparts which are pierced by the three water-gates, and sixteen others to the landward side." "And how is it, good Aylward, that there comes so much music from the town?
I seem to hear a hundred trumpets, all calling in chorus." "It would be strange else, seeing that all the great lords of England and of Gascony are within the walls, and each would have his trumpeter blow as loud as his neighbor, lest it might be thought that his dignity had been abated.

Ma foi! they make as much louster as a Scotch army, where every man fills himself with girdle-cakes, and sits up all night to blow upon the toodle-pipe.