(Fool) “A crooked laugh would be thy gift should I tease it with a crooked tale; and, lady, didst thee e’er behold a crooked laugh—one which holds within its crook a tear?”
(Lisa) “Oh, thou art in truth a fool. I’d bend the crook and strike the tear away.”
(Fool) “Aye, lady, so thou wouldst. But thou hast ne’er yet found thy lot to bear a crook held staunch within His hand! Spring rain would be thy tears—a balm to buy fresh beauties. And the fool? Ah, his do dry in dust, e’en before they fall!”
(Lisa) “Pish, jester, thy tears would paint thy face to crooked lines, and thee wouldst laugh to see the muck. My heart doth truly sorry. Hast heard the King hath promised me as wages for the joust? And thee dost know who rideth ’gainst my chosen?”
(Fool) “Aye, lady, the crones do wag, and I do promise ye they wear their necks becricked to see his palfrey pass. They do tell me that his sumpter-cloth doth trail like a ladies’ robe.”
(Lisa) “Yea, fool, and pledge me thy heart to tell it not, I did broider at its hem a thrush with mine own tress—a song to cheer his way, a wing to speed him on.”
(Fool) “Hear, Beppo, how she prates! Would I were a posey wreath and Beppo here a fashioner of song. We then would lend us to thy hand to offer as a token. But thou dost know a fool and ape are ever but a fool and ape. I’m off to chase thy truant laugh. Who cometh there? The dust doth rise like storm-cloud along the road ahead, and ’tis shot with glinting. Oh, I see the mantling flush of morning put to shame by the flushing of thy cheek! See, he doth ride with helmet ope. Its golden bars do clatter at the jolt, and—but stop, Beppo, she heareth not! We, poor beggars, thee and me—an ape with a tail and a fool with a heart!
“See, Beppo, I did tear a rose to tatters but to fling its petals ’neath her feet. They tell me that his lance doth bear a ribband blue and a curling lock of gold—and yet he treads the earth! Let’s then away!
The world may sorrow
But the fool must laugh.