"Then take, fair maid, this ring of gold, and to your step-dame say,
That to-day your troth is plighted to a knight from far away;
"That at Nantes a battle fierce was fought, wherein his squire was slain,
And he himself lies stricken sore upon his bed of pain;
"But when three weeks are overpast, whatever fate betide,
He will come himself full gaily, and claim thee for his bride."
All breathless ran she homeward, when, lo, a wondrous thing!
For on her slender finger blazed her foster brother's ring.
II.
The weeks crept onward slowly, crept slowly—one, two, three;
But never came the young knight, no never more came he.
"Come, it is time that you were wed, for I have sought for you
A bridegroom fitted to your rank, an honest man and true."
"Nay, nay, I prithee, step-dame, there is none that I can wed,
Only my foster brother dear I love, alive or dead.
"With this ring his troth he plighted, and whatever fate betide,
He will come himself full gaily, and claim me for his bride."
"Peace, with thy golden wedding-ring! peace, fool, or I will teach
With blows thy senseless chattering tongue to hold discreeter speech;