THE FOUNTAIN OF MARIBO OR THE QUEEN AND THE ALGREVE

The Algreve he his bugle wound The long night all — The Queen in bower heard the sound, I’ m passion’ s thrall.

The Queen her little page address’ d, The long night all — “To come to me the Greve request,” I’ m passion’ s thrall.

He came, before the board stood he, The long night all — “Wherefore, O Queen, has sent for me?” I’ m passion’ s thrall.

“As soon as e’ er my lord is dead, The long night all — Thou shalt rule o’ er my gold so red,” I’ m passion’ s thrall.

“O speak not, Queen, in such wild style, The long night all — Thou know’ st not who may list the while,” I’ m passion’ s thrall.

She fondly thought alone they were, The long night all — There stood the King, to all gave ear, I’ m passion’ s thrall.

The King two serving men address’ d, The long night all — “To come to me the Queen request,” I’ m passion’ s thrall.

“Hear thou, my Queen, so fair and sleek, The long night all — What with the Algreve didst thou speak?” I’ m passion’ s thrall.

“The speech that I with him did hold, The long night all — Was all about thy actions bold,” I’ m passion’ s thrall.

“The King two servants did command, The long night all — “Bid ye the Greve before me stand,” I’ m passion’ s thrall.

“Hear thou, my Greve, what with my Queen The long night all — Didst thou discourse of yestere’ en?” I’ m passion’ s thrall.

“The whole discourse that we did hold, The long night all — Was of thy virtues manifold,” I’ m passion’ s thrall.

The King his little page address’ d, The long night all — “To come to me the cook request,” I’ m passion’ s thrall.

“Thou cook, the Greve to pieces chop, The long night all — And to thy Lady serve him up,” I’ m passion’ s thrall.

Long sat the Queen, the meat she eyed, The long night all — “This is no Roe I’ m satisfied, I’ m passion’ s thrall.

“But’ tis the Greve our hall who grac’ d.” The long night all — The pieces she collects in haste, I’ m passion’ s thrall.

She wrapped them in white ermine skin, The long night all — A gilded chest she placed them in. I’ m passion’ s thrall.

She them collects, then wends her slow, The long night all — Unto the fount of Maribo. I’ m passion’ s thrall.

She dipped them in the water pure, The long night all — “Rise, Christian man, I thee conjure!” I’ m passion’ s thrall.

The man arose, and thanked his God, The long night all — Then from the country forth he trod. I’ m passion’ s thrall.