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They judged they might the place defend,

Although five thousand men should spend

Their force thereon courageously.

Certes, cried they, but weak were we

If we should fail the fort to hold

Without this thief, this lying scold,

This traitor false, this felon dire,

God grant the master of hell fire

May harass and torment his soul!

On all men wrought he grief and dole.

Though these proud words the porters sped,

Truth was it, whatsoe’er they said,

Great loss to them was Evil-Tongue.

When the Duenna had outsung

Her tale, Fair-Welcome took the word,

And spake as one who having heard

Discourse, knows how to gloss thereon.

Madam, great honour have you done

To me in teaching me your art,

And therefor thank you from my heart,

But when you spake to me of love,

That bitter-sweet disease, above

My power it was to understand

Your meaning, but at second-hand,