Now, ye brave knights, that nought but Cupid fear,
To these sweet dames give eye, to me give ear!
Oyez!
'Tis now declared--"
My daughter GILLIAN expostulateth:
GILL: O, father, now
You must allow
That your herald is rather a bore.
He talks such a lot,
And it seems frightful rot--
MYSELF: I hate slang, miss! I told you before!
If my herald says much,
Yet he only says such
As by heralds was said in those days;
Though their trumpets they blew,
It is none the less true
That they blew them in other folks' praise.
If my herald verbose is
And gives us large doses
Of high-sounding rodomontade,
You'll find they spoke so
In the long, long ago,
So blame not--O, blame not the bard.
But while we are prating
Our herald stands waiting
In a perfectly terrible fume,
So, my dear, here and now,
The poor chap we'll allow
His long-winded speech to resume:
"'Tis here declared by order of the Ten,
Fair Benedicta's guardians--worthy men!
Thus they decree--ye lovers all rejoice!
She shall by their command, this day make choice
Of him--O, him! O blest, thrice blessed he
Who must anon her lord and husband be.
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