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That night they spent in pleasant sport,
And when the day was come, A post for fair Alphonso came
To fetch him home to Rome.
Alphonso wedded was,
Which brought great woe, álas! .
Alphonso being gone to Rome
With this his lady gay,
In such a rage did stay,
His land, and rich attire,
In rage and wrathful ire.
With sad and pensive thoughts, alas!
Ganselo wandered then,
Relief of many men :
Who will relieve my woe.
To Rome when
came, And found Alphonso's place, Which was so famous, huge, and fair,
Himself in such poor case,
In that his poor array,
If he would come this way.
Therefore he staid within the street,
Alphonso then came by, But heeded not Ganselo poor,
His friend that stood so nigh. Which grieved Ganselo to the heart,
Quoth he, and is it so?
His friend indeed to know.
In desperate sort away he went
Into a barn hard by,
Thinking thereby to die.
He did lament and weep, And being over-weighed with grief,
He there fell fast asleep.
While soundly there he sweetly slept,
Came in a murdering thief, And saw a naked knife lie by
This man so full of grief;
And went away amain,
Which he before had slain.
And afterwards he went with speed
And put this bloody knife Into his hand that sleeping lay,
To save himself from strife : Which done, away in haste he ran,
And when that search was made, Ganselo with his bloody knife,
Was for the murder staid,
And brought before the magistrate,
Who did confess most plain,
The murder'd man had slain.
And knowing Ganselo's face, To save his friend did
say himself Was guilty in that case
None, quoth Alphonso, kill'd the man,
My lord, but only I,
And let me justly die.
In striving did proceed,
That did the fact indeed.
Who being moved with remorse,
Their friendly hearts to see,
None did the fact but he.
Of all sides joy was seen,
Which had so woful been.
In rich array he' clothed him
As fitted his degree,
And former dignity.
Had pardon at that time,
His foul and grievous crime.
"A PLEASANT BALLAD OF TWO LOVERS."
[From a black letter copy, in the Pepys Collection.]
Complain, my lute, complain on him,
That stays so long away,
But still unkind doth stay :
Once out of sight, then out of mind,
Peace, lyre, peace, it is not so,
He'll by and by be here,
Thinks every hour a year.
Run quickly then, and turn the lock,
Come, gallant, now, come loiterer,
For I must chide with thee,
Come, sit thee down by me,