All alone he sat save for his favourite bird, the gay goshawk. And it, for it loved its master well, blinked a tear from its eye as it peered into Lord William's gloomy face, blinked and peered again, so pale and lean had his master grown.
'Now what ill has befallen,' thought the bird, and it ruffled its feathers in its distress.
Lord William looked up and stroked the glossy plumage of his gay goshawk.
'Be still, my bonny bird, be still,' said Lord William, 'and I will smooth your ruffled wings.'
The goshawk blinked and peered more close into the tired face of his master. Then he began to speak.
'Have you lost your sword or spear in the tournament, have you lost them in sunny England?' asked the bird, 'or are you pale with grief because your true love is far away?'
'By my troth!' cried Lord William, 'I have lost nor sword nor spear, yet do I mourn, for my true love whom I fain would see.
'You shall carry a message to her, my gay goshawk, for you can fly over hill and dale. You shall carry a letter to my love, and you shall e'en bring me an answer,' said Lord William, 'for you can speak as well as fly, my bonny bird.'
'But how shall I know your true love?' said the bird. 'Never have I seen her face or heard her voice.'
'O well will you know my true love,' cried Lord William, 'for in all England lives there none so fair as she. The cheeks of my love are red as the red red rose, and her neck, it is whiter than new-fallen snow.