Quoth the DUCHESS:
“I say, my sweeting, 'tis quite plain
That I must run away again!
Howbeit I care not one rush for their laws! Marry forsooth—a fig! Let them make laws an they will, these reverend, right troublesome grey-beards of mine, they shall never wed me but to such a man as Love shall choose me, and loving him—him only will I wed, be he great or lowly, rich or poor, worthy or unworthy, so I do love him, as is the sweet and wondrous way of love.”
“Ah, Benedicta! what is love?”
“A joy that cometh but of itself, all unsought! This wisdom had I of a Fool i' the forest. Go learn you of this same Fool and sigh not, dear wench.”
“Nay, but,” sighed Yolande, lovely cheeks a-flush, “what of Sir Agramore—hath he not sworn to wed thee?”
“I do fear Sir Agramore no longer, Yolande, since I have found me one may cope with him perchance—even as did a Fool with my Lord Gui of Ells upon a tune. Art sighing again, sweet maid?”
“Nay, indeed—and wherefore should I sigh?”
“At mention of a Fool, belike.”
“Ah, no, no, 'twere shame in me, Benedicta! A Fool forsooth!”