“'Fair lady, thou 'rt lost!' quoth he,
Sing derry, derry down.
'And O, 'tis dark—'tis dark!' quoth she,
'And in the dark dire perils be,'
O, derry, derry down!
“Quoth he: 'Fair lady, stint thy fear,'
Sing derry, derry down.
'I, being Fool, will sit me here,
And, till the kindly sun appear,
Sing derry, derry down.
“'I'll make for thee, like foolish wight,
Hey, derry, derry down,
A song that shall out-last dark night,
And put thy foolish fears to flight
With derry, derry down.
“'For 'tis great shame thou shouldst fear so,
Hey, derry, derry down,
A peril that two-legged doth go,
Since he's but humble Fool, I trow,
With derry, derry down.'”
Thus sang he, a dim figure beside dim stream and, having secured the horse, sat him down thereby and took forth his lute.
But Yolande, though he could not see, clenched white fists and, though he could not hear, stamped slim foot at him.
“Joconde,” quoth she, betwixt clenched teeth, “Joconde, I—scorn thee!”
“Alack!” he sighed. “Alack, and my lute hath taken sore scath of a sword-thrust!”
“Thou'rt hateful—hateful!” she cried. “Aye—hateful as thy hateful song, so do I contemn thee henceforth!”
“Say'st thou so, lady, forsooth?” sighed he, busied with his lute. “Now were I other than Fool, here should I judge was hope of winning thy love. But being only Fool I, with aid of woe-begone lute, will sing thee merry song to cheer thee of thy perilous fears—”
“Enough, ill Fool, I'll hear thee not!”
“So be it, dear lady! Then will we sit an list to the song of yon stream, for streams and rivers, like the everlasting hills, are passing wise with length of days—”
“And thou'rt a very Fool!” she cried angrily. “A fond Fool presumptuous in thy folly!”