Upon a day, but when it matters not,
Nor where, but mark! the sun was plaguy hot
Falling athwart a long and dusty road
In which same dust two dusty fellows strode.
One was a tall, broad-shouldered, goodly wight
In garb of motley like a jester dight,
Fool's cap on head with ass's ears a-swing,
While, with each stride, his bells did gaily ring;
But, 'neath his cock's-comb showed a face so marred
With cheek, with brow and lip so strangely scarred
As might scare tender maid or timid child
Unless, by chance, they saw him when he smiled,
For then his eyes, so deeply blue and bright,
Did hold in them such joyous, kindly light,
That sorrow was from heavy hearts beguiled--
This jester seemed less ugly when he smiled.

Here, O my Gill, right deftly, in a trice
I've made him smile and made him do it--twice.
That 't was the Duke of course you've guessed at once
Since you, I know, we nothing of a dunce.
But, what should bring a duke in cap and bells?
Read on and mark, while he the reason tells.

Now, 'spite of dust and heat, his lute he strummed,
And snatches of a merry song he hummed,
The while askance full merrily he eyed
The dusty knave who plodded at his side.
A bony fellow, this, and long of limb,