The Geste of Duke Jocelyn Part 6

And if I do, small blame there lies; It is myself I plagiarise.

GILL: Why, yes, of course! And, as you know.

I always loved your "Beltane" so.

MYSELF: But don't you like the "geste" I'm writing?

GILL: Of course! It's getting most exciting, In spite of all the rhymes and stuff--

MYSELF: Stuff?

Enough!

My daughter, you're so sweetly frank.

Henceforth my verses shall be blank.

No other rhyme I'll rhyme for you Till you politely beg me to.

Now then, your blank-verse doom you know, Hey, presto, and away we go!

FYTTE 3

Tell'th how Duke Jocelyn of love did sing, And haughty knight in lily-pool did fling.

Upon a morn, when dewy flowers fresh-waked Filled the glad air with perfume languorous, And piping birds a pretty tumult made, Thrilling the day with blended ecstasy; When dew in gra.s.s did light a thousand fires, And gemmed the green in flas.h.i.+ng bravery-- Forth of her bower the fair Yolanda came, Fresh as the morn and, like the morning, young, Who, as she breathed the soft and fragrant air, Felt her white flesh a-thrill with joyous life, And heart that leapt responsive to the joy.

Vivid with life she trod the flowery ways, Dreaming awhile of love and love and love; Unknowing all of eyes that watched unseen, Viewing her body's gracious loveliness: Her scarlet mouth, her deep and dreamful eyes, The glowing splendour of her sun-kissed hair, Which in thick braids o'er rounded bosom fell Past slender waist by jewelled girdle bound.

So stood Duke Jocelyn amid the leaves, And marked how, as she walked, her silken gown Did cling her round in soft embrace, as though Itself had sense and wit enough to love her.

Entranced he stood, bound by her beauty's spell, Whereby it seemed he did in her behold The beauty of all fair and beauteous things.

Now leaned she o'er a pool where lilies pale Oped their shy beauties to the gladsome day, Yet in their beauty none of them so fair As that fair face the swooning waters held.

And as, glad-eyed, she viewed her loveliness, She fell to singing, soft and low and sweet, Clear and full-throated as a piping merle, And this the manner of her singing was:

"What is love? Ah, who shall say?

Flower to languish in a day, Bird on wing that will away.

Love, I do defy thee!

"What is love? A toy so vain 'T is but found to lose again, Painful sweet and sweetest pain; Ah, love, come not nigh me.

"But, love, an thou com'st to me, Wert thou as I'd have thee be, Welcome sweet I'd make for thee, And weary of thee never.

"If with thy heart thou could'st endure, If thou wert strong and thou wert sure, A master now, and now a wooer, Thy slave I'd be for ever."

Thus sang she sweet beside the lily-pool, Unknowing any might her singing hear, When rose another voice, so rich, so full As thrilled her into rapt and pleasing wonder; And as she hearkened to these deep-sung words, She flushed anon and dimpled to a smile:

"What is love? 'Tis this, I say, Flower that springeth in a day, Bird of joy to sing alway, Deep in the heart of me.

"What is love? A joyous pain That I ne'er may lose again, Since for ever I am fain To think and dream of thee."

Now hasted she to part the leafy screen, And one in motley habit thus beheld.

But when 'neath flaunting c.o.c.k's-comb she did mark His blemished face, she backward from him drew And caught her breath, and yet upon him gazed 'Neath wrinkled brow, the while Duke Jocelyn Read the expected horror in her eyes: Wherefore he bowed his head upon his breast And plucked at belt with sudden, nervous hand As, cold and proud and high, she questioned him: "What thing art thou that 'neath thy hood doth show A visage that might shame the gladsome day?"

Whereto he answered, low and humble-wise: "A Fool! The very fool of fools am I-- A Fool that fain would pluck the sun from heaven."

"Begone!" she sighed. "Thy look doth make me cold, E'en as I stand thus i' the kindly sun.

Yet, an thou 'rt poor as thy mean habit speaks thee, Take first this dole for tender Jesu's sake."

Then answered Jocelyn on lowly knee: "For thy sweet bounty I do thank thee well, But, in good sooth, so great a fool am I, 'Stead of thy gold I rather would possess

Yon happy flower that in thy bosom bloometh.

Give me but this and richer fool am I Than any knight-like fool that coucheth lance-- Greater I than any lord soever, Aye--e'en Duke Jocelyn of Brocelaunde."

Smiled now Yolande with rosy lip up-curving, While in soft cheek a roguish dimple played.

Quoth she: "Duke Jocelyn, I've heard it said, Is great and rich, a mighty man-at-arms, And thou but sorry Fool in mean array, Yet"--from white fingers she let fall the flower-- "Be thou, Fool, greater than this mighty Duke!

And now, since mighty Fool and rich I've made thee, In quittance I would win of thee a song."

Now sat Yolande, white chin on dimpled fist, Viewing him o'er with cruel, maiden-eyes, So swift to heed each outward mark and blemish (Since maids be apt to sly disparagement, And scorn of all that seems un-beautiful) While he did lean him by the marble rim, His wistful gaze down-bent upon the pool, Feeling her look and knowing while she looked: What time he touched his lute with fingers skilled, And so fell singing, wonder-low and sweet:

"Though foul and harsh of face am I, Lady fair--O lady!

Fair thoughts within my heart may lie, As flowers that bloom unseen to die, Lady fair--O lady!

"Though this my hateful face may fright thee, Lady fair--O list!

My folly mayhap shall delight thee, A song of fools I will recite thee, Lady fair--O list!"

Herewith he sighed amain, but smiled anon, And fell anon to blither, louder note:

"Sing hey, Folly--Folly ho, And here's a song of Folly, All 'neath the sun, Will gladly run Away from Melancholy.

"And Fool, forsooth, a Fool am I, Well learned in foolish lore: For I can sing ye, laugh or sigh: Can any man do more?

Hey, Folly--Folly, ho!

'Gainst sadness bar the door.

"A Fool am I, yet by fair leave, Poor Fools have hearts to feel.

Poor Fools, like other fools, may grieve If they their woes conceal.

Hither, Folly--Folly, ho!

All Fools to Folly kneel.

"What though a Fool be melancholy, Sick, sick at heart--heigho!

Pain must he hide 'neath laughing Folly, What Fool should heed his woe!

Hither, Folly--Folly, ho!

Fool must unpitied go.

"E'en though a Fool should fondly woo, E'en though his love be high, Poor Folly's fool must wear the rue, Proud love doth pa.s.s him by.

Heigho, Folly--Folly, ho!

Poor Fool may love--and die.

"Though Wisdom should in motley go, And fools the wise man ape; Who is there that shall Wisdom know Beneath a 'scalloped cape?

Heigho, Folly--Folly, ho!

Life is but sorry j.a.pe.