THE FIRST SOLDIER: Why, she scorned him, 'tis well beknown!
THE SECOND SOLDIER: Aye, and it doth not do to scorn the Red Gui, look 'ee!
THE THIBD SOLDIER: She'll lie snug in his arms yet, her pride humbled, her proud spirit broke, I'll warrant me!
THE FOURTH SOLDIER: She rideth hence in her litter, d'ye see; and with but scant few light-armed knaves attendant.
THE FIRST SOLDIER: Aye, and our signal my lord's hunting-horn thrice winded—
Thus did they talk, with laughter loud and deep,
While nearer yet the hooded hag did creep;
But:—
Now blew the brazen clarions might and main,
Which done, the portly Herald spake again:
“Good people, all ye lords and ladies fair,
Oyez!
Now unto ye forthwith I do declare
The charms of two fair dames beyond compare.
Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!
The first, our Duchess—Benedicta hight,
That late from Tissingors, her town, took flight,
To-day, returning here, doth bless our sight,
And view the prowess of each valiant knight;
Each champ-i-on, in shining armour dight,
With blunted weapons gallantly shall fight.
And, watched by eyes of ladies beamy-bright,
Inspired and strengthened by this sweet eye-light,
Shall quit themselves with very main and might;
The second:—in her beauty Beauty's peer,
Yolande the Fair, unto our Duchess dear,
For whose sweet charms hath splintered many a spear,
Throned with our lovely Duchess, sitteth here
With her bright charms all gallant hearts to cheer.
Now, ye brave knights, that nought but Cupid fear,
To these sweet dames give eye, to me give ear!
Oyez!
'Tis now declared—”
My daughter GILLIAN expostulateth:
GILL: O, father, now
You must allow
That your herald is rather a bore.
He talks such a lot,
And it seems frightful rot—
MYSELF: I hate slang, miss! I told you before!
If my herald says much,
Yet he only says such
As by heralds was said in those days;
Though their trumpets they blew,
It is none the less true
That they blew them in other folks' praise.
If my herald verbose is
And gives us large doses
Of high-sounding rodomontade,
You'll find they spoke so
In the long, long ago,
So blame not—O, blame not the bard.
But while we are prating
Our herald stands waiting
In a perfectly terrible fume,
So, my dear, here and now,
The poor chap we'll allow
His long-winded speech to resume:
“'Tis here declared by order of the Ten,
Fair Benedicta's guardians—worthy men!
Thus they decree—ye lovers all rejoice!
She shall by their command, this day make choice
Of him—O, him! O blest, thrice blessed he
Who must anon her lord and husband be.
'Tis so pronounced by her grave guardians ten,
By them made law—and they right reverend men!
And this the law—our lady, be it said,
This day shall choose the husband she must wed;
And he who wins our Duchess for his own
Crowned by her love shall mount to ducal throne,
So let each knight, by valiant prowess, prove
Himself most worthy to our lady's love.
Now make I here an end, and ending, pray
Ye quit you all like val'rous knights this day.”
Thus spake the Chief Herald and so paced solemnly down the lists while the long clarions filled the air with gallant music. But the lovely Benedicta, throned beneath silken canopy, knit her black brows and clenched slender hands and stamped dainty foot, yet laughed thereafter, whereupon Yolande, leaning to kiss her flushed cheek, questioned her, wondering:
“How say'st thou to this, my loved Benedicta?”