The bedside he stroked with so gentle an air:
“Dear heart, sit thee down, for thy weight it will bear.”
“O no, by the Saints, I will never do that,
For there, noble Sir, I have ne’er before sat.”
“Though thou ne’er hast placed thee upon my bedside,
Thou hast slept in my arms embraced many a tide.
“My spouse thou shalt be, yea, my heart’s beloved spouse,
And I in thine arms every night will repose.”
A TALE FROM THE CORNISH
In Lavan’s parish once of yore,
Dwelt on the spot called Tshei an Hor,
A loving couple, man and wife,
But poverty distressed their life.
And thus the man his wife address’d:
“I’ll wander forth of work in quest;
And you, my dearest, you can earn
Your living here till I return.”
His home he leaves, and, far from gay,
Towards the East he took his way.
At length a farmer’s dwelling reaching,
He enter’d it, for work beseeching.
“What work canst do?” the farmer cried;
“All kinds of work, Sir,” John replied.
Then straight they for a year agree,
Three pounds the wages were to be.
And when the year to end had come
The master paid him down the sum.
“John,” said his master, “here’s your fee;
But if you’ll it return to me,
A point of wisdom I will teach you.”
Said John: “Give it me, I beseech you.”
“No, no, to give is not my way.”
“Take it,” said John, “and say your say.”
Quoth t’other: “This in memory hold:
Ne’er for the new road leave the old.”
They for another year agree,
The wages just the same to be;
And when the year its end had reached,
The farmer forth the three pounds fetched.
“John,” said his master, “here’s your fee,
But if you’ll it return to me,