XXXII.
"I will wring thy fingers pale in the gauntlet of my mail":
Toll slowly.
"'Little hand and muckle gold' close shall lie within my hold,
As the sword did, to prevail."
XXXIII.
Oh, the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west—
Toll slowly.
Oh, and laughed the Duchess May, and her soul did put away
All his boasting, for a jest.
XXXIV.
In her chamber did she sit, laughing low to think of it,—
Toll slowly.
"Tower is strong and will is free: thou canst boast, my lord of Leigh,
But thou boastest little wit."
XXXV.
In her tire-glass gazèd she, and she blushed right womanly—
Toll slowly.
She blushed half from her disdain, half her beauty was so plain,
—"Oath for oath, my lord of Leigh!"
XXXVI.
Straight she called her maidens in—"Since ye gave me blame herein"—
Toll slowly—
"That a bridal such as mine should lack gauds to make it fine,
Come and shrive me from that sin.