First then--thou art in lowly guise bedight,
For that thou art my trusty, most-loved knight,
Who at my side in many a bloody fray,
With thy good sword hath smit grim Death away--"
"Lord," quoth the Knight, "what's done is past return,
'Tis of our future doings I would learn."

"Aye," said the Duke, "list, Pertinax, and know
'Tis on a pilgrimage of love we go:
Mayhap hast heard the beauty and the fame
Of fair Yolande, that young and peerless dame


"For whom so many noble lovers sigh
And with each other in the lists do vie?
Though much I've dreamed of sweet Yolanda's charms
My days have passed in wars and feats of arms,
For, Pertinax, this blemished face I bear,
Should fright, methinks, a lady young and fair.
And so it is that I have deemed it wiser
To hide it when I might 'neath casque and visor--"

Hereat Sir Pertinax smote hand to knee
And, frowning, shook his head. "Messire," said he,
"Thou art a man, and young, of noble race,
And, being duke, what matter for thy face?
Rank, wealth, estate--these be the things I trow
Can make the fairest woman tender grow.
Ride unto her in thy rich armour dight,
With archer, man-at-arms, and many a knight