'TWAS near the fair city of Benevent, When the sun was setting on bough and bent, And knights were preparing in bower and tent, On the eve of the Baptist's tournament; When in Lincoln green a stripling gent, 'Therefore thus speaks my lady,' the fair page he said, And the knight lowly louted with hand and with head, 'Fling aside the good armour in which thou art clad, And don thou this weed of her night gear instead, Fora hauberk of steel, a kirtle of thread: Well seeming a page by a princess And charge, thus attired, in the tour nament dread, sent, Wander'd the camp, and, still as he And fight as thy wont is where most went, Enquired for the Englishman, Thomas a Kent. blood is shed, And bring honour away, or remain with the dead.' 'The blood that I lost for this daughter Then deep blush'd the Princess-yet kiss'd she and press'd of thine, The blood-spotted robes to her lips I pour'd forth as freely as flask gives and her breast. 'Go tell my true knight, church and chamber shall show, If I value the blood on this garment or no.' And when it was time for the nobles to pass, In solemn procession to minster and mass, The first walk'd the Princess in purple and pall, But the blood-besmear'd night-robe she wore over all; And eke, in the hall, where they all sat at dine, When she knelt to her father and Now change the scene-and let the proffer'd the wine, Over all her rich robes and state jewels, she wore |