Secundus Miles

I would that he were hanged and dead Who hath no joy to see your head With gold about it, barred on red; I hold him as a sow of lead That is so scant of wit.

Tunc dicat NATHAN propheta

O king, I have a word to thee; The child that is in Bersabe Shall wither without light to see; This word is come of God by me For sin that ye have done. Because herein ye did not right, To take the fair one lamb to smite That was of Urias the knight; Ye wist he had but one. Full many sheep I wot ye had, And many women, when ye bade, To do your will and keep you glad, And a good crown about your head With gold to show thereon. This Urias had one poor house With low-barred latoun shot-windows And scant of corn to fill a mouse; And rusty basnets for his brows, To wear them to the bone. Yea the roofs also, as men sain, Were thin to hold against the rain; Therefore what rushes were there lain Grew wet withouten foot of men; The stancheons were all gone in twain As sick man's flesh is gone. Nathless he had great joy to see The long hair of this Bersabe Fall round her lap and round her knee Even to her small soft feet, that be Shod now with crimson royally And covered with clean gold. Likewise great joy he had to kiss Her throat, where now the scarlet is Against her little chin, I wis, That then was but cold. No scarlet then her kirtle had And little gold about it sprad; But her red mouth was always glad To kiss, albeit the eyes were sad With love they had to hold.