I can woo them and wed them in less than no time,
I can do it in prose, in blank verse, or in rhyme;
But since, my dear, you are for speed,
To end our Geste I will proceed.
In many ways it may be done,
As I have told you--here is one:
A short two years have elapsed and we find our hero Jocelyn tenderly
playing with a golden-haired prattler, his beloved son and heir, while his
beautiful spouse Yolande busied with her needle, smiles through happy
tears.
GILL: O, hush, father! Of course, that is simply absurd!
Such terrible piffle--
MYSELF: I object to that word!
GILL: Well, then, please try a little verse.
MYSELF: With pleasure:
"My own at last!" Duke Joc'lyn fondly cried,
And kissed Yolande, his blooming, blushing bride.
"My own!" he sighed. "My own--my very own!"
"Thine, love!" she murmured. "Thine and thine alone,
Thy very own for days and months and years--"
GILL: O, stop! I think that's even worse!
MYSELF: Beyond measure.
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