GILL: But father, wait--I must insist
Whatever else you do
It's time that somebody was kissed
It doesn't matter who--
I mean either Yolande the Fair
Or else the Duchess--I don't care.
MYSELF: In these next two Fyttes both shall kiss
And be well kissed, I promise this.
Two Fyttes of kisses I will make
One after t' other, for your sake.
Two Fyttes of love I will invent
And make them both quite different,
Which is a trying matter rather
And difficult for any father--
But then, as well you know, my Gillian,
You have a father in a million;
And Oh, methinks 'tis very plain
You ne'er shall meet his like again.
FYTTE 11
How Pertinax fell out with Robin and with Friar, Yet, in that very hour,
came by his heart's desire.
The sinking sun had set the West aflame, When our three riders to the
wild-wood came, Where a small wind 'mid sun-kissed branches played, And
deep'ning shadows a soft twilight made; Where, save for leafy stirrings,
all was still, Lulled by the murmur of a bubbling rill That flowed
o'ershadowed by a mighty oak, Its massy bole deep-cleft by lightning
stroke.
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