Page:Early poems of William Morris.djvu/115

 This bag of franks for your expenses.

You do not go; still looking at my face,

You kneel! what, squire, do you mock me then?

You need not tell me who has set you on,

But tell me only, 't is a made-up tale.

You are some lover may-be, or his friend;

Sir, if you loved me once, or your friend loved,

Think, is it not enough that I kneel down

And kiss your feet, your jest will be right good

If you give in now, carry it too far,

And 'twill be cruel; not yet? but you weep

Almost, as though you loved me; love me then,

And go to Heaven by telling all your sport,

And I will kiss you, then with all my heart,

Upon the mouth; O! what can I do then

To move you?

You know I am so sorry, but my tale

Is not yet finish'd:

And brought him tall and pale to Guesclin's tent,

Who, seeing him, leant his head upon his hand,

And ponder'd somewhile, afterwards, looking up—

Fair dame, what shall I say?

Good squire, you may go now with my thanks.