MYSELF: Then don't! Though, I might say, since you're set on it, child, My
duke was not so ugly when he smiled--

GILL: Then make him smile as often as you can.

MYSELF: I might do that, 't is none so bad a plan.

GILL: And the lady--she must be a lady fair.

MYSELF: My dear, she's beautiful beyond compare.

GILL: Why, then--

MYSELF: My pen!

So here and now I do begin
The tale of young Duke Jocelyn,
For critics, schools,
And cramping rules,
Heedless and caring not a pin.

The title here behold
On this fair page enrolled,
In letters big and bold,
As seemeth fit--
To wit:--



FYTTE I