And if not brown then rosy is her hue,
And, if not red, why then 'tis very plain
That brown she is or blue or green again.
Now fain, sir, would I ask and question whether
She e'er is seen these colours all together?

"O fain would I a lady spy,
By countryside or town,
Who may be seen all blue and green,
Unless she's red or brown."

But now, while fierce the little man did scowl,
The rosy Friar, sly-smiling 'neath his cowl,
His visage meek, spake thus in dulcet tone:
"Sir Fool, our Reeve is something mixed, I'll own,
Though he by divers colours is bemused,
Learn ye this truth, so shall he stand excused:
Our Duchess Benedicta, be it known,
Hath this day from her several guardians flown.
Ten worthy men her several guardians be,
Of whom the chief and worthiest ye see,
As first--myself, a friar of some report,
Well-known, methinks, in country, town and court.
Who as all men can unto all men speak,
Well read beside in Latin and in Greek,
A humble soul albeit goodly preacher,
One apt to learn and therefore learned teacher,
One who can laugh betimes, betimes can pray,
Who'll colic cure or on the bagpipe play.
Who'll sing--"