A penny loaf to feed the Pope
A farthing o' cheese to choke him.
A pint of beer to rinse it down.
A faggot of sticks to burn him.
Burn him in a tub of tar.
Burn him like a blazing star.
Burn his body from his head.
Then we'll say ol' Pope is dead.
Hip hip hoorah!
Hip hip hoorah hoorah!
Rupert ignored all the chants and the fireworks, he had his own fugitive to catch. And when he did, he was going to tell her clearly that leaving town didn't mean leaving him.
He found her sleeping in the open, pale face and soft snores. It had stoped raining a few hours after dark, the half moon was already high and clear in the sky.
It was sunrise and Rupert was still looking at her.
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