The Geste of Duke Jocelyn | Page 2

say, since you're set on it, child,
My duke was not so ugly when he smiled--
GILL: Then make him smile as often as you can.

MYSELF: I might do that, 't is none so bad a plan.
GILL: And the lady--she must be a lady fair.
MYSELF: My dear, 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