Then in a charger off they bore his pale and bloody head.
They brought it to Padilla’s chair, they bowed them on the knee—
“King Pedro greets thee, lady fair, his gift he sends to thee.”
She gazed upon the master’s head, her scorn it could not scare,
And cruel were the words she spoke, and proud her glances were.
“Thou now shalt pay, thou traitor base, the debt of many a year,
My dog shall lick that haughty face, no more that lip shall sneer.”
She seized it by the clotted hair, and o’er the window flung:
The mastiff smelt it in his lair, forth at her cry he sprung;
The mastiff that had crouched so low, to lick the master’s hand,