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I found him standing bolt upright

In seeming rage, and ready dight,

His gnarled and knotted club. Then I,

With humble mien and downcast eye,

Approached him, and exclaimed: “O Sire,

I pray you humbly, let the ire

You well may feel against me die,

Seeing that now, most abjectly,

I crave your pardon, and would do

Whate’er your will should set me to,

As act of penance. Love it is

Who rules my heart, and he, ywis,

My trespass caused.

My mastering thought

Is this, that through all time I nought

May anger you, and direst pain

Would suffer ere that I again

Incurred your wrath, wherefore to me

Extend, I pray, your clemency,

Who have your fear before mine eyes

Unceasingly, and in such wise

To you will render service due

As ne’er shall give you cause to rue

Free grant of pardon, noble sir,

To your devoted worshipper.

Suffer that he but once again,

Who of thy fostering hand is fain,

May offer you his love. Your will,

Or small or great, will I fulfil

At risk of life, and faithful be

Past all men call sincerity.

What more to any sovereign lord

Than life and love can man afford?