Quoth he: “Enough, Sir Knight! Here is no place for love! For inasmuch as we—”
THE KNIGHT: Gentle Herald, I being here, here is Love, since I am lover, therefore love-full, thus where I go goeth Love—
The Herald: Apprehend me, Sir Knight! For whereas love hath no part in—
The Knight: Noble Herald, Love hath every part within me and without, thus I, from Love apart, have no part, and my love no part apart from my every part; wherefore, for my part, and on my part, ne'er will I with Love part for thy part and this to thee do I impart—
“Sweet Saints aid us!” The Chief Herald clasped his massy brow and gazed with eye distraught. “Sir Knight—messire—my very good and noble Lord of Tong—I grope! Here is that which hath a seeming ... thy so many parts portend somewhat ... and yet ... I excogitate ... yet grope I still ... impart, part ... thy part and its part ... so many parts ... and roses ... and songs o' love ... a lute! O, thundering Mars, I ... Sound, trumpets!”
But the Duchess up-starting, silenced Herald and trumpeters with imperious hand.
“Sir Knight of Tong,” said she, “'tis told thou'rt of nimble tongue and a maker of songs, so we bid thee sing if thy song be of Love—for Love is a thing little known and seldom understood these days. Here be very many noble knights wondrous learned in the smiting of buffets, but little else; here be noble dames very apt at the play of eyes, the twining of fingers, the languishment of sighs, that, seeking True-love, find but its shadow; and here also grey beards that have forgot the very name of Love. So we bid thee sing us of Love—True-love, what it is. Our ears attend thee!”
“Gracious lady,” answered the Knight, “gladly do I obey. But Love is mighty and I lowly, and may speak of Love but from mine own humility. And though much might be said of Love since Love's empire is the universe and Love immortal, yet will I strive to portray this mighty thing that is True-love in few, poor words.”
Then, plucking sweet melody from his lute, the Knight sang as here followeth:
“What is Love? 'Tis this, I say,
Flower that springeth in a day
Ne'er to die or fade away
Since True-love dieth never.
“Though youth, alas! too soon shall wane,
Though friend prove false and effort vain,
True-love all changeless doth remain
The same to-day and ever.”