3 Most curiously the tower was built, Of stone and timber strong, One hundred and fifty doors Did to this tower belong. And they so cunningly contrived, With turnings round abont, That none without a clue of thread Could enter in or out. Now, for his love and lady's sake, Who was both fair and bright, The keeping of the tower he gave Unto a valiant knight. But fortune that doth often frown, Where it before did smile, The king's delight, the lady's joy, Full soon she did beguile. For why, the king's ungracious son Whom he did high advance, Against his father raised wars, Within the realms of France. But yet before our gracious king The English land forsook, Of Rosamond, his lady fair, His farewell thus he took. My Rosamond, my lovely Rose, Who pleaseth best mine eye, The fairest flower in all the world To feed my phantasy.
