Christine. [Opening it.] Heavens, how unlike! Why Lenox, you were dreaming of the Venus de Medici when you drew this—Oh, you flatterer!
Lenox. Nay, 'tis not finished; now stand there, while I sketch the drapery.—[Places her at a distance, takes out a pencil, and works at the drawing.]
Christine. Why, what a statue you are making of me. Pray, why not make a picture of it at once? Place me in that bower, with a lute and a lap dog, sighing for your return; then draw a soldier disguised as a pilgrim, leaning on his staff, and his cowl thrown back; let that pilgrim resemble thee, and then let the little dog bark, and I fainting, and there's a subject for the pencil and pallet.
Lenox. Sing, dear Christine, while I finish the drawing—it may be the last time I shall ever hear you.
Christine. Oh, do not say so, my gloomy cavalier; a soldier, and despair?
The Knight Errant.
Written by the late Queen of Holland.
It was Dunois, the young and brave, was bound to Palestine,
But first he made his orisons before St. Mary's shrine:
And grant, immortal Queen of Heav'n, was still the soldier's prayer,
That I may prove the bravest knight, and love the fairest fair.
His oath of honour on the shrine he grav'd it with his sword,
And follow'd to the Holy Land the banner of his Lord;
Where, faithful to his noble vow, his war-cry fill'd the air—
Be honour'd, aye, the bravest knight, beloved the fairest fair.
They ow'd the conquest to his arm, and then his liege lord said,
The heart that has for honour beat must be by bliss repaid:
My daughter Isabel and thou shall be a wedded pair,
For thou art bravest of the brave, she fairest of the fair.