Till no more deniers can he show,
Unless within his barns they grow;
His plumes our maids will so pluck out,
That bare he’ll walk till new ones sprout,
And make him sell his lands, unless
He drive them off with fearlessness.
Poor men true lovers
Poor men have made of me their lord,
And though they oft can scarce afford
To pasture me, I scorn them not,
Nor do good men do so, I wot.11350
Towards them is Richesse hard and rude,
With selfish love alone imbued;
But poor men truer lovers are
Than rich, whose wealth doth but debar
True love, and, by my father’s soul,
Better is loyalty than dole.
Ever on me their thought is spent,
And thereof is my heart content,
And they so doing, oft mine eye
Looks on their service kindlily;11360
And if instead of God of Love
God Plutus were I, then above
Their hopes I’d give poor lovers all
Great wealth, for in mine ear their call
And plaint resounds, and specially
That of one faithful unto me;
For if he died for love, small then
Were Love esteemed ’mong mortal men.
The Barons of the Host.
Great sir, the Barons cried, we find
Your speech wise, bountiful, and kind;11370
