In a day or two she was well again; As who should say, "You labour in vain! This is all a jest against God, who meant 170 I should ever be, as I am, content And glad in his sight; therefore, glad I will be." So, smiling as at first went she.
She was active, stirring, all fire-- Could not rest, could not tire-- To a stone she might have given life! (I myself loved once, in my day) --For a shepherd's, miner's, huntsman's wife, (I had a wife, I know what I say) Never in all the world such an one! 180 And here was plenty to be done, And she that could do it, great or small, She was to do nothing at all. There was already this man in his post, This in his station, and that in his office, And the Duke's plan admitted a wife, at most, To meet his eye, with the other trophies, Now outside the hall, now in it, To sit thus, stand thus, see and be seen, At the proper place in the proper minute, 190 And die away the life between. And it was amusing enough, each infraction Of rule--(but for after-sadness that came) To hear the consummate self-satisfaction With which the young Duke and the old dame Would let her advise, and criticise, And, being a fool, instruct the wise, And, child-like, parcel out praise or blame: They bore it all in complacent guise, As though an artificer, after contriving 200 A wheel-work image as if it were living, Should find with delight it could motion to strike him! So found the Duke, and his mother like him: The lady hardly got a rebuff-- That had not been contemptuous enough, With his cursed smirk, as he nodded applause, And kept off the old mother-cat's claws.
So, the little lady grew silent and thin, Paling and ever paling, As the way is with a hid chagrin; 210 And the Duke perceived that she was ailing, And said in his heart, "'Tis done to spite me, But I shall find in my power to right me!" Don't swear, friend! The old one, many a year, Is in hell, and the Duke's self... you shall hear.
Well, early in autumn, at first winter-warning, When the stag had to break with his foot, of a morning, A drinking-hole out of the fresh tender ice That covered the pond till the sun, in a trice, Loosening it, let out a ripple of gold, 220 And another and another, and faster and faster Till, dimpling to blindness, the wide water rolled: Then it so chanced that the Duke our master Asked himself what were the pleasures in season, And found, since the calendar bade him be hearty, He should do the Middle Age no treason In resolving on a hunting-party. Always provided, old books showed the way of it! What meant old poets by their strictures? And when old poets had said their say of it, 230 How taught old painters in their pictures? We must revert to the proper channels, Workings in tapestry, paintings on panels, And gather up woodcraft's authentic traditions: Here was food for our various ambitions, As on each case, exactly stated-- To encourage your dog, now, the properest chirrup Or best prayer to Saint Hubert on mounting your stirrup-- We of the household took thought and debated. Blessed was he whose back ached with the jerkin 240 His sire was wont to do forest-work in; Blesseder he who nobly sunk "ohs" And "ahs" while he tugged on his grandsire's trunk-hose; What signified hats if they had no rims on, Each slouching before and behind like the scallop, And able to serve at sea for a shallop, Loaded with lacquer and looped with crimson? So that the deer now, to make a short rhyme on't, What with our Venerers, Prickers and Verderers, 250 Might hope for real hunters at length and not murderers, And oh the Duke's tailor, he had a hot time on't!