[Ladies, who of my lord would fain be told]

Ladies, who of my lord would fain be told, Picture a gentle knight, full sweet to see, Though young in years, in wisdom passing old, Model of glory and of valiancy; Fair-haired, bright colour glowing in his face, Tall and well-set, broad-shouldered, finally, In all his parts a paragon of grace Except in loving wantonly, ah me! Who'd know myself, picture a woman wrought In passion and in presence after pain's And death's own bitter images, a port Of safety where untroubled rest remains; One who with neither tears, nor sighs, nor zest Wakes pity in her cruel lover's breast.