Ah! of them I will not eat.
Now came on the shining morrow,
Then it was, as goes the tale,
The Mordomo a whistle heard:
—‘Jesus Lord, now me avail!’
This was the appointed signal
The mode the Count was us’d to take—
The king did not the curtains draw
Saying: ‘I will not vintage make.’
Beautiful green leaves hath the vineyard,