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 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.
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