Page:Early poems of William Morris.djvu/219

 Block all the upland roads with trees;

The Little Tower with no great ease

Is won, I warrant; bid them bring

Much sheep and oxen, everything

The spits are wont to turn with; wine

And wheaten bread, that we may dine

In plenty each day of the siege;

Good friends, ye know me no hard liege;

My lady is right fair, see ye!

Pray God to keep you frank and free.

Love Isabeau, keep goodly cheer;

The Little Tower will stand well here

Many a year when we are dead,

And over it our green and red,

Barred with the Lady's golden head;

From mere old age when we are dead.