Page:Wessex poems and other verses (IA wessexpoemsother00hard).pdf/76

 Till at her room I turned. "Madam," I said, "Have you the wherewithal for this? Pray speak Love fills no cupboard. You'll need daily bread."

"We've nothing, sire," said she, “and nothing seek, 'Twere base in me to rob my lord unware; Our hands will earn a pittance week by week."

And next I saw she'd piled her raiment rare Within the garde-robes, and her household purse, Her jewels, and least lace of personal wear;

And stood in homespun. Now grown wholly hers, I handed her the gold, her jewels all, And him the choicest of her robes diverse.