Sir David ap Morgan ap Griffith ap Hugh
Ap Tudor ap Rhice, quoth his roundelay;
She said that one widow for so many was too few,
And she bade the Welshman wend his way.
But then next came a yeoman, a yeoman of Kent,
Jollily singing his roundelay;
He spoke to the widow of living and rent,
And where was the widow could say him nay?
Both.
So the knight and the squire were both left in the myre,
There for to sing their roundelay;
For a yeoman of Kent, with his yearly rent,
There never was a widow could say him nay.
"I would, Wamba," said the Knight, "that
our host of the Trysting-tree, or the jolly Friar,
his chaplain, heard this ditty in praise of our
bluff yeoman."
"So would not I," said Wamba—"but for the horn that hangs at your baldric."
"Ay," said the Knight,—"this is a pledge of Locksley's good will, though I am not like to need it. Three mots on this bugle will, I am
