Well I mind me of Signë’s nature sweet.
No guile she dreamed of, no evil knew.
When I call to remembrance her eyes so blue
I must think of the angels in heaven.
But of years there have passed no fewer than seven;
In that time much may have altered. Oh, say
If she, too, has changed so while I’ve been away?
Margit.
She too? Is it, pray, in the halls of kings
That you learn such courtly ways, Sir Knight?