"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 To swell thy train with pomp and majesty, That she, and all, thy might and rank may see; So shall all folk thy worthiness acclaim, And her maid's heart, methinks, shall do the same. Thy blemished face shall matter not one jot; To mount thy throne she'll think a happy lot. So woo her thus--"
"So will I woo her not!" Quoth Jocelyn, "For than I'd win her so, Alone and loveless all my days I'd go. Ha, Pertinax, 'spite all thy noble parts, 'Tis sooth ye little know of women's hearts!"
"Women?" quoth Pertinax, and scratched his jaw, "'Tis true of dogs and horses I know more, And dogs do bite, and steeds betimes will balk, And fairest women, so they say, will talk."
"And so dost thou, my Pertinax, and yet, 'Spite all thy talk, my mind on this is set-- Thus, in all lowliness I'll e'en go to her And 'neath this foolish motley I will woo her. And if, despite this face, this humble guise, I once may read love's message in her eyes, Then Pertinax--by all the Saints, 'twill be The hope of all poor lovers after me, These foolish bells a deathless tale shall ring, And of Love's triumph evermore shall sing.
"So, Pertinax, ne'er curse ye so For that in lowly guise we go, We many a merry chance may know, Sir Pertinax of Shene." "And chances evil, lord, also!" Quoth Pertinax of Shene.
Now on a sudden, from the thorny brake, E'en as Sir Pertinax thus doleful spake, Leapt lusty loons and ragged rascals four, Rusty their mail, yet bright the swords they bore.