XLII
Then spake the nobles, ‘Much marvel have we,
This jolly blind beggar we cannot here see.’
‘My lords,’ quoth the bride, ‘my father’s so base,
He is loth with his presence these states to disgrace.’—
XLIII
‘The praise of a woman in question to bring,
Before her own face, were a flattering thing,
But we think thy father’s baseness,’ quoth they,
‘Might by thy beauty be clean put away.’
XLIV
They had no sooner these pleasant words spoke,
But in comes the beggar clad in a silk cloak;
A fair velvet cap, and a feather had he,
And now a musician forsooth he would be.
XLV
He had a dainty lute under his arm,
He touchèd the strings, which made such a charm,
Says, ‘Please you to hear any musick of me,
I’ll sing you a song of pretty Bessee.’
XLVI
With that his lute he twangèd straightway,
And thereon began most sweetly to play;
And after that lessons were played two or three,
He strain’d out this song most delicatelìe.