Now, at this Sir Pertinax grew angered, grew thoughtful, grew sad and,
beholding his image mirrored in the waters, sighed for his grim, unlovely
look and, in his heart, cursed his vile garb anew. At last he spoke:
HE: Truly thou may'st trust me, maiden.
SHE: And wherefore sighest thou, sad soldier?
HE: Verily for thy two reasons. Though, for mine age, I am not forty
turned.
Saying which, he sighed again, and stared gloomily into the murmurous
waters. But presently, chancing to look aside, he beheld a head low down
amid the underwood, a head huge and hairy with small, fierce eyes that
watched him right bodefully, and a great mouth that grinned evilly; and now
as he stared, amazed by this monstrous head, it nodded grimly, speaking
thus:
"Lob, Lobkyn he
Commandeth thee
To let her be
And set her free,
Thou scurvy, cutpurse, outlaw knave,
Lest hanged thou be
Upon a tree
For roguery
And villainy,
Thou knavish, misbegotten slave;
For proud is she
Of high degree,
As unto ye
Explicitly--"
"Ha!" quoth Sir Pertinax, rising and drawing sword.
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