A hapless woman lay
Within that dungeon grim—
That fact, I've heard him say.
Was quite enough for him.
"I will not sit or lie,
Or eat or drink, I vow.
Till thou art free as I,
Or I as pent as thou."
Her tears then ceased to flow,
Her wails no longer rang,
And tuneful in her woe
The prisoned maiden sang:
"Oh, stranger, as you play
I recognize your touch;
And all that I can say
Is, thank you very much."
He seized his clarion straight,
And blew thereat, until
A warden oped the gate,
"Oh, what might be your will?"
"I've come, sir knave, to see
The master of these halls:
A maid unwillingly
Lies prisoned in their walls."
With barely stifled sigh
That porter drooped his head,
With teardrops in his eye,
"A many, sir," he said.
He stayed to hear no more,
But pushed that porter by,
And shortly stood before
Sir Hugh de Peckham Rye.
Sir Hugh he darkly frowned,
"What would you, sir, with me?"
The troubadour he downed
Upon his bended knee.
"I've come, De Peckham Rye,
To do a Christian task;
You ask me what would I?
It is not much I ask.