“Nay, O Benedicta, hearken! See, who rideth yonder?”
Now even as thus fair Yolanda spoke,
A horn's shrill note on all men's hearing broke,
And all eyes turned where rode a gallant knight,
In burnished armour sumptuously bedight.
His scarlet plumes 'bove gleaming helm a-dance,
His bannerole a-flutter from long lance,
His gaudy shield with new-popped blazon glowed:
Three stooping falcons that on field vert showed;
But close-shut vizor hid from all his face
As thus he rode at easy, ambling pace.
“Now as I live!” cried Benedicta. “By his device yon should be that foolish knight Sir Palamon of Tong!”
“Aye, truly!” sighed Yolande. “Though he wear no motley hither rideth indeed a very fool. And look, Benedicta—look! O, sure never rode knight in like array—see how the very populace groweth dumb in its amaze!”
For now the crowd in wonderment grew mute,
To see this knight before him bare a lute,
While blooming roses his great helmet crowned,
They wreathed his sword, his mighty lance around.
Thus decked rode he in rosy pageantry,
And up the lists he ambled leisurely;
Till, all at once, from the astonied crowd
There brake a hum that swelled to laughter loud;
But on he rode, nor seemed to reck or heed,
Till 'neath the balcony he checked his steed.
Then, handing lance unto his tall esquire,
He sudden struck sweet chord upon his lyre,
And thus, serene, his lute he plucked until
The laughter died and all stood hushed and still;
Then, hollow in his helm, a clear voice rang,
As, through his lowered vizor, thus he sang:
“A gentle knight behold in me,
(Unless my blazon lie!)
For on my shield behold and see,
Upon field vert, gules falcons three,
Surcharged with heart ensanguiney,
To prove to one and all of ye,
A love-lorn knight am I.”
But now cometh (and almost in haste) the haughty and right dignified Chief Herald with pursuivants attendant, which latter having trumpeted amain, the Herald challenged thus:
“Messire, by the device upon thy shield,
We know my Lord of Tong is in the field;
But pray thee now declare, pronounce, expound,
Why thus ye ride with foolish roses crowned?”
Whereto the Knight maketh answer forthwith:
“If foolish be these flowers I bear,
Then fool am I, I trow.
Yet, in my folly, fool doth swear,
These flowers to fool an emblem rare
Of one, to fool, more sweet, more fair,
E'en she that is beyond compare,
A flower perchance for fool to wear,
Who shall his foolish love declare
Till she, mayhap, fool's life may share,
Nor shall this fool of love despair,
Till foolish hie shall go.
“For life were empty, life were vain,
If true love come not nigh,
Though honours, fortune, all I gain,
Yet poorer I than poor remain,
If true-love from me fly;
So here I pray,
If that thou may,
Ah—never pass me by!”
Here the Chief Herald frowned, puffing his cheeks, and waved his ebony staff authoritatively.