Fought braver than the best,
While the light cloak I laid aside,
And doffed the damask fold,
And donned my shirt of mail, the spoil
Of foeman brave and bold,
Thou, fickle Mooress, puttest on
Thine odorous brocade,
And hand in hand with thy false love
Wert sitting in the shade.
Thus on the scutcheon of thy sires