One while it was too long,
Another while too short,
And wrinkled on her shoulders
In most unseemly sort.
Now green, now red it seemed,
Then all of sable hue.
"Beshrew me," quoth King Arthur,
"I think thou beest not true."
Down she threw the mantle,
Ne longer would not stay;
But, storming like a fury,
To her chamber flung away.
She curst the whoreson weaver,
That had the mantle wrought:
And doubly curst the froward impe,
Who thither had it brought.
"I had rather live in desarts
Beneath the green-wood tree;
Than here, base king, among thy groomes,
The sport of them and thee."
Sir Kay call'd forth his lady,
And bade her to come near:
"Yet, dame, if thou be guilty,
I pray thee now forbear."
This lady, pertly gigling,
With forward step came on,
And boldly to the little boy
With fearless face is gone.
When she had tane the mantle,
With purpose for to wear;
It shrunk up to her shoulder,
And left her b--- side bare.
Then every merry knight,
That was in Arthur's court,
Gib'd, and laught, and flouted,
To see that pleasant sport.
Downe she threw the mantle,
No longer bold or gay,
But with a face all pale and wan,
To her chamber slunk away.