The Geste of Duke Jocelyn | Page 2

she's beautiful beyond compare.
GILL: Why, then--
MYSELF: My pen!
So here and now I do begin?The tale of young Duke Jocelyn,?For critics, schools,?And cramping rules,?Heedless and caring not a pin.
The title here behold?On this fair page enrolled,?In letters big and bold,?As seemeth fit--?To wit:--
FYTTE I
Upon a day, but when it matters not,?Nor where, but mark! the sun was plaguy hot?Falling athwart a long and dusty road?In which same dust two dusty fellows strode.?One was a tall, broad-shouldered, goodly wight?In garb of motley like a jester dight,?Fool's cap on head with ass's ears a-swing,?While, with each stride, his bells did gaily ring;?But, 'neath his cock's-comb showed a face so marred?With cheek, with brow and lip so strangely scarred?As might scare tender maid or timid child?Unless, by chance, they saw him when he smiled,?For then his eyes, so deeply blue and bright,?Did hold in them such joyous, kindly light,?That sorrow was from heavy hearts beguiled--?This jester seemed less ugly when he smiled.
Here, O my Gill, right deftly, in a trice?I've made him smile and made him do it--twice.?That 't was the Duke of course you've guessed at once?Since you, I know, we nothing of a dunce.?But, what should bring a duke in cap and bells??Read on and mark, while he the reason tells.
Now, 'spite of dust and heat, his lute he strummed,?And snatches of a merry song he hummed,?The while askance full merrily he eyed?The dusty knave who plodded at his side.?A bony fellow, this, and long of limb,
His habit poor, his aspect swart and grim;?His belt to bear a long broad-sword did serve,?His eye was bold, his nose did fiercely curve?Down which he snorted oft and (what is worse)?Beneath his breath gave vent to many a curse.?Whereat the Duke, sly laughing, plucked lutestring?And thus, in voice melodious did sing:
"Sir Pertinax, why curse ye so??Since thus in humble guise we go?We merry chances oft may know,?Sir Pertinax of Shene."
"And chances woeful, lord, also!"?Quoth Pertinax of Shene.
"To every fool that passeth by?These foolish bells shall testify?That very fool, forsooth, am I,?Good Pertinax of Shene!"
"And, lord, methinks they'll tell no lie!"?Growled Pertinax of Shene.
Then spake the Knight in something of a pet,?"Par Dex, lord Duke--plague take it, how I sweat,?By Cock, messire, ye know I have small lust?Like hind or serf to tramp it i' the dust!?Per De, my lord, a parch-ed pea am I--?I'm all athirst! Athirst? I am so dry?My very bones do rattle to and fro?And jig about within me as I go!?Why tramp we thus, bereft of state and rank??Why go ye, lord, like foolish mountebank??And whither doth our madcap journey trend??And wherefore? Why? And, prithee, to what end?"?Then quoth the Duke, "See yonder in the green?Doth run a cooling water-brook I ween,?Come, Pertinax, beneath yon shady trees,?And there whiles we do rest outstretched at ease?Thy 'wherefores' and thy 'whys' shall answered be,?And of our doings I will counsel thee."
So turned they from the hot and dusty road?Where, 'mid green shade, a rill soft-bubbling flowed,?A brook that leapt and laughed in roguish wise,?Whereat Sir Pertinax with scowling eyes?Did frown upon the rippling water clear,?And sware sad oaths because it was not beer;?Sighful he knelt beside this murmurous rill,?Bent steel-clad head and bravely drank his fill.?Then sitting down, quoth he: "By Og and Gog,?I'll drink no more--nor horse am I nor dog?To gulp down water--pest, I hate the stuff!"
"Ah!" laughed the Duke, "'tis plain hast had enough,?And since well filled with water thou dost lie?To answer thee thy questions fain am I.?First then--thou art in lowly guise bedight,?For that thou art my trusty, most-loved knight,?Who at my side in many a bloody fray,?With thy good sword hath smit grim Death away--"?"Lord," quoth the Knight, "what's done is past return,?'Tis of our future doings I would learn."
"Aye," said the Duke, "list, Pertinax, and know?'Tis on a pilgrimage of love we go:?Mayhap hast heard the beauty and the fame?Of fair Yolande, that young and peerless dame
"For whom so many noble lovers sigh?And with each other in the lists do vie??Though much I've dreamed of sweet Yolanda's charms?My days have passed in wars and feats of arms,?For, Pertinax, this blemished face I bear,?Should fright, methinks, a lady young and fair.?And so it is that I have deemed it wiser?To hide it when I might 'neath casque and visor--"
Hereat Sir Pertinax smote hand to knee?And, frowning, shook his head. "Messire," said he,?"Thou art a man, and young, of noble race,?And, being duke, what matter for thy face??Rank, wealth, estate--these be the things I trow?Can make the fairest woman tender grow.?Ride unto her in thy rich armour dight,?With archer, man-at-arms, and many a knight?To swell thy train with pomp and majesty,?That she, and all, thy might and rank may see;?So shall all folk thy worthiness acclaim,?And her maid's heart, methinks, shall do the same.?Thy blemished face shall matter