The king a minstrel now has found,
For royal music meet.
With cloth of gold, and cloth of red,
And woman’s eyes the place is bright.
“Now, shepherd, sing,” the king has said,
“The song you sang last night!”
One faint sound stirs the perfumed air,
The courtiers scornfully look down;
The shepherd kneels in dumb despair,
Seeing the king’s dark frown.