"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: