"Plague take thee, Fool! Out o' my sight!" growled he,
"Or cropped thine ugly nose and ears shall be.
Begone, base rogue! Haste, dog, and get thee hence,
Thy folly pleadeth this thy Fool's offence--
Yet go, or of thy motley shalt be stripped,
And from the town I 'll have thee shrewdly whipped,
For Lord of Ells and Raddemore am I,
Though folk, I've heard, do call me 'Red Sir Gui,'
Since blood is red and--I am Gui the Red."
"Red Gui?" quoth Joc'lyn. "Art thou Gui the dread--
Red Gui--in faith? Of him Dame Rumour saith,
His ways be vile but viler still--his breath.
Now though a life vile lived is thing most ill,
Yet some do think a vile breath viler still."
Swift, swift as lightning from a summer sky,
Out flashed the vengeful dagger of Sir Gui,
And darting with a deadly stroke and fierce,
Did Joc'lyn's motley habit rend and pierce,
Whereat with fearful cry up sprang Yolande,
But this strange jester did grim-smiling stand.
Quoth he: "Messire, a fool in very truth,
The fool of foolish fools he'd be, in sooth,
Who'd play a quip or so, my lord, with thee
Unless in triple armour dight were he;
And so it is this jester doth not fail
With such as thou to jest in shirt of mail.
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