The Geste of Duke Jocelyn | Page 3

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 not one jot;
To mount
thy throne she'll think a happy lot.
So woo her thus--"
"So will I woo her not!"
Quoth Jocelyn, "For than I'd win her so,

Alone and loveless all my days I'd go.
Ha, Pertinax, 'spite all thy
noble parts,
'Tis sooth ye little know of women's hearts!"
"Women?" quoth Pertinax, and scratched his jaw,
"'Tis true of dogs
and horses I know more,
And dogs do bite, and steeds betimes will
balk,
And fairest women, so they say, will talk."
"And so dost thou, my Pertinax, and yet,
'Spite all thy talk, my mind
on this is set--
Thus, in all lowliness I'll e'en go to her
And 'neath
this foolish motley I will woo her.
And if, despite this face, this
humble guise,
I once may read love's message in her eyes,
Then
Pertinax--by all the Saints, 'twill be
The hope of all poor lovers after
me,
These foolish bells a deathless tale shall ring,
And of Love's
triumph evermore shall sing.
"So, Pertinax, ne'er curse ye so
For that in lowly guise we go,
We
many a merry chance may know,
Sir Pertinax of Shene."
"And
chances evil, lord, also!"
Quoth Pertinax of Shene.
Now on a sudden, from the thorny brake,
E'en as Sir Pertinax thus
doleful spake,
Leapt lusty loons and ragged rascals four,
Rusty their
mail, yet bright the swords they bore.
Up sprang Sir Pertinax with gleeful shout,
Plucked forth his blade
and fiercely laid about.
"Ha, rogues! Ha, knaves! Most scurvy dogs!"
he cried.
While point and edge right lustily he plied
And smote to
earth the foremost of the crew,
Then, laughing, pell-mell leapt on
other two.
The fourth rogue's thrust, Duke Joc'lyn blithely parried


Right featly with the quarter-staff he carried.
Then 'neath the fellow's
guard did nimbly slip
And caught him in a cunning wrestler's grip.

Now did they reel and stagger to and fro,
And on the ling each other
strove to throw;
Arm locked with arm they heaved, they strove and panted,
With
mighty shoulders bowed and feet firm-planted.
So on the sward, with
golden sunlight dappled,
In silence grim they tussled, fiercely
grappled.
Thus then Duke Jocelyn wrestled joyously,
For this tall
rogue a lusty man was he,
But, 'spite his tricks and all his cunning
play,
He in the Duke had met his match this day,
As, with a sudden
heave and mighty swing,
Duke Jocelyn hurled him backwards on the
ling,
And there he breathless lay and sore amazed,
While on the
Duke with wonderment he gazed:
"A Fool?" he cried. "Nay, certes
fool, per De,
Ne'er saw I fool, a fool the like o' thee!"
But now, e'en as the Duke did breathless stand,
Up strode Sir Pertinax,
long sword in hand:
"Messire," he growled, "my rogues have run
away,
So, since you've felled this fellow, him I'll slay."
"Not so," the Duke, short-breathing, made reply,
"Methinks this
rogue is too much man to die."
"How?" cried the Knight; "not slay a knave--a thief?
Such clemency
is strange and past belief!
Mean ye to let the dog all scathless go?"
"Nay," said the Duke, square chin on fist, "not so,
For since the rogue
is plainly in the wrong
The rogue shall win his freedom with a song,

And since forsooth a rogue ingrain is he,
So shall he sing a song of
roguery.
Rise, roguish rogue, get thee thy wind and sing,
Pipe me
thy best lest on a tree ye swing!"
Up to his feet the lusty outlaw sprang,
And thus, in clear melodious
voice, he sang:

"I'll sing a song not over long,
A song of roguery.
For I'm a rogue,
and thou'rt a rogue,
And so, in faith, is he.
And we are rogues, and
ye are rogues,
All rogues in verity.
"As die we must and turn to dust,
Since each is Adam's son,
A
rogue was he, so rogues are we,
And rascals every one.
"The Abbot sleek with visage meek,
With candle, book and bell,

Our souls may curse, we're none the worse,
Since he's a rogue as
well.
"My lord aloft doth hang full oft
Poor rogues the like o' me,
But all
men know where e'er he go
A greater rogue is he.
"The king abroad with knight and lord
Doth ride in majesty,
But
strip him bare and then and there
A shivering rogue ye'll see,
"Sirs, if ye will my life to spill,
Then hang me on a tree,
Since
rogue am I, a rogue I'll die,
A roguish death for me.
"But i' the wind the leaves shall find
Small voices for my dole,
"And when I'm dead sigh o'er my head
Prayers for my poor rogue
soul;
For I'm a rogue, and thou 'rt a rogue,
And so in faith is he,

As we are rogues, so ye are rogues,
All rogues in verity."
The singing done, the Duke sat