| Share page | Visit Us On FB |
|
|
|||
|
218 |
the king of France's datjghtee. |
||
|
|
|||
|
The princess, armed by him,
And by true desire, Wandering all that night,
Without dread at all, Still unknown, she past «
In her strange attire, Coming at the last
Within echo's call. "You fair woods," quoth she, " Honoured may you be, »
Harbouring my heart's delight, Which doth encompass here, My joy and only dear,
My trusty friend, and comely knight. Sweet, I come unto thee, «
Sweet, I come to wooe thee,
That thou may'st not angry be; . For my long delaying, And thy courteous staying,
Amends for all I make to thee." w
Passing thus alone
Through the silent forest, Many a grievous groan
Sounded in her ear; Where she heard a man &'
To lament the sorest Chance that ever came,
Forc'd by deadly fear. " Farewel, my dear! " quoth he, |
|||
|
|
|||