Then the steward did retire,
Saying, that he would enquire
Whether it was true or no:
Ne’er was lover hampered so.
Now the lady who had filled him
With those fears, full well beheld him
From a window, as she dressed,
Pleasèd at the merry jest.
When she had herself attired
In rich robes, to be admired,
She appearèd in his sight,
Like a moving angel bright.
‘Sir! my servants have related,
How some hours you have waited
In my parlour,—tell me who
In my house you ever knew?’
‘Madam! if I have offended,
It is more than I intended;
A young lady brought me here:’—
‘That is true,’ said she, ‘my dear.
‘I can be no longer cruel
To my joy, and only jewel;
Thou art mine, and I am thine,
Hand and heart I do resign!
‘Once I was a wounded lover,
Now these fears are fairly over;
By receiving what I gave,
Thou art lord of what I have.’
Beauty, honour, love, and treasure,
A rich golden stream of pleasure,
With his lady he enjoys;
Thanks to Cupid’s kind decoys.
Now he’s clothed in rich attire,
Not inferior to a squire;
Beauty, honour, riches’ store,
What can man desire more?