She: Where are we?
He: The sweet Saints know that, lady--not I!
She (_scornfully_): Verily, thou art no saint--
He: Not yet, lady, not yet--witness these ass's ears.
She: True, thou 'rt very Fool!
He: In very truth, lady, and thou art lost with this same Fool, so art thou
in very woeful case. As for me, a lost fool is no matter, wherefore Fool
for himself grieveth no whit. But for thee--alas! Thou art a proud lady of
high degree, very nice of thy dainty person, soft and delicate of body, so
shall the greensward prove for thee uneasy couch, I judge, and thou sleep
ill--
She: Sleep? No thought have I of sleep! Ride on, therefore. Why tarry we
here?
He: Lady, for three sufficing reasons--our foes pursue not, I'm a-weary,
and 'tis very dark--
She: No matter! Ride on, I do command thee.
He: Aye, but whither?
She: I care not so thou leave this place; 'tis an evil place!
He: Why,'tis good place, very well secluded and with stream hard by that
bubbleth. So here will we bide till dawn.
Pages:
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277