Good did the King ill thought withstand;
Gazing, wond’ring thus to see her,
Without moving foot or hand.
And thus he said —‘Oh God, my sire!
Pardon what I ask’d before:
This angel here so pure and bright
It is not I will injure her.’
The vineyard hath fresh green leaves in it,
Grapes found I in it ripe and sweet;
But I fear to tamper with them...