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“Fair sir,” I answered, “pity me,

Whom Love hath seized within his grip,

Nor fear that falsehood stains my lip.

Through Love my heart is doomed to feel

Five cruel wounds, which nought may heal

Unless I win that opening rose,

Than which, the world’s round circle knows

Nought else so sweet. For it I live,

Or die, content my life to give

Therefor.”—Fair-Welcome paled with fear,

And cried: “O brother, wherefore rear

Within your breast a hope so vain?

Desire you then to be my bane?

Alas! I were forsooth undone,

My credit lost, my honour gone,

If you should dare to reive that rose

From where, by God’s handset, it grows

Unharmed. A villain’s act I trow

Is that you dream of. Suffer now

That beauteous bud, whereso ’twas born,

To flourish still, my hand would scorn

The crime your mouth doth rashly bid.”

Then Danger, who lay closely hid

Hard by, sprang forth. Of form immense,

Dark-browed, with hair as stiff and dense