THE FOUNTAIN OF MARIBO OR THE QUEEN AND THE ALGREVE
The Algreve he his bugle wound
The long night all —
The Queen in bower heard the sound,
I’ m passion’ s thrall.
The Queen her little page address’ d,
The long night all —
“To come to me the Greve request,”
I’ m passion’ s thrall.
He came, before the board stood he,
The long night all —
“Wherefore, O Queen, has sent for me?”
I’ m passion’ s thrall.
“As soon as e’ er my lord is dead,
The long night all —
Thou shalt rule o’ er my gold so red,”
I’ m passion’ s thrall.
“O speak not, Queen, in such wild style,
The long night all —
Thou know’ st not who may list the while,”
I’ m passion’ s thrall.
She fondly thought alone they were,
The long night all —
There stood the King, to all gave ear,
I’ m passion’ s thrall.
The King two serving men address’ d,
The long night all —
“To come to me the Queen request,”
I’ m passion’ s thrall.
“Hear thou, my Queen, so fair and sleek,
The long night all —
What with the Algreve didst thou speak?”
I’ m passion’ s thrall.
“The speech that I with him did hold,
The long night all —
Was all about thy actions bold,”
I’ m passion’ s thrall.
“The King two servants did command,
The long night all —
“Bid ye the Greve before me stand,”
I’ m passion’ s thrall.
“Hear thou, my Greve, what with my Queen
The long night all —
Didst thou discourse of yestere’ en?”
I’ m passion’ s thrall.
“The whole discourse that we did hold,
The long night all —
Was of thy virtues manifold,”
I’ m passion’ s thrall.
The King his little page address’ d,
The long night all —
“To come to me the cook request,”
I’ m passion’ s thrall.
“Thou cook, the Greve to pieces chop,
The long night all —
And to thy Lady serve him up,”
I’ m passion’ s thrall.
Long sat the Queen, the meat she eyed,
The long night all —
“This is no Roe I’ m satisfied,
I’ m passion’ s thrall.
“But’ tis the Greve our hall who grac’ d.”
The long night all —
The pieces she collects in haste,
I’ m passion’ s thrall.
She wrapped them in white ermine skin,
The long night all —
A gilded chest she placed them in.
I’ m passion’ s thrall.
She them collects, then wends her slow,
The long night all —
Unto the fount of Maribo.
I’ m passion’ s thrall.
She dipped them in the water pure,
The long night all —
“Rise, Christian man, I thee conjure!”
I’ m passion’ s thrall.
The man arose, and thanked his God,
The long night all —
Then from the country forth he trod.
I’ m passion’ s thrall.