He: Alone? Nay, thou 'rt with me, that is—I am with thee and thou art with a Fool. So is Fool care-full Fool since Fool hath care of thee. Suffer me now to aid thee down since here will we wait the day. Come, my arm about thee so, thy hand in mine—
She (angrily): O Fool most base—most vile—
He: Nay, hush thee, hush! and listen to yon blithesome, bubblesome, babbling brook how it sigheth 'mid the willows, whispereth under reedy bank and laugheth, rogue-like, in the shallows! Listen how it wooeth thee:
Though, lady, hard thy couch must be,
If thou should'st wakeful lie,
Here, from the dark, I'll sing to thee
A drowsy lullaby.
O lady fair—forget thy pride
Whiles thou within the greenwood bide.
And now suffer me to aid thee down.
She: Why wilt thou stay me in this evil place?
He (patiently): The wild is ill travelling in the dark, lady; there be quagmires and perilous ways—wherefore here must we bide till dawn. Suffer me to—
SHE (breathlessly and shrinking from his touch): But I fear not quagmires—there be greater perils—more shameful and—and—'tis so dark, so dark! 'Tis hateful place. Ride we till it be day—
He (mockingly): Perils, lady? Why certes there be perils—and perils. Perils that creep and crawl, perils that go on four legs and perils two-legged—e'en as I. But I, though two-legged, am but very fool of fools and nothing perilous in blazing day or blackest night. So stint thy fears, lady, for here bide we till dawn!
Herewith he caught her in sudden arms and lifted her to the ground; then, dismounting, he set about watering and cherishing the wearied steed and tethered him beside a dun stream that rippled beneath shadowy willows; and so doing, fell a-singing on this wise: