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 The crackling of small fires, the bannerets, The lazy leopards on the largest banner, Stray gleams on hanging mail, an armourer's torch-flare Melting on steel.

And in the quietest space They probe old scandals, say de Born is dead; And we've the gossip (skipped six hundred years). Richard shall die to-morrow—leave him there Talking of trobar clus with Daniel. And the "best craftsman" sings out his friend's song, Envies its vigour and deplores the technique, Dispraises his own skill?—That's as you will. And they discuss the dead man, Plantagenet puts the riddle: "Did he love her?" And Arnaut parries: "Did he love your sister? True, he has praised her, but in some opinion He wrote that praise only to show he had The favour of your party, had been well received."

"You knew the man." "You knew the man." "I am an artist, you have tried both métiers." "You were born near him." "Do we know our friends?" "Say that he saw the castles, say that he loved Maent!"