THE LADYE THAT I LOVE.
Reading edition
Were I a doughty cavalier, On fire for high-born dame, To win her smile, with sword and spear, I’d seek a warrior’s fame; But since no more stern deeds of blood The gentle fair may move, I’ll woo in softer—better mood, The ladye that I love. For helmet bright with steel and gold, And plumes that flout the sky, I’ll bear a mind of hardier mould, And thoughts that sweep as high. For scarf athwart my corslet cast, With her fair name y-wove, I’ll have her pictured in my breast— The ladye that I love. No mettled steed through battle-throng, Shall bear me bravely on, But pride shall make my spirit strong, Where honours may be won: Among the great of mind and heart, My prowess I will prove; And thus I’ll win, by gentler art, The ladye that I love. R. C.