"Now, Ambroi, for a song!" they all began:
"Let us not sleep above our supper, man!"
But he, "Peace! peace! My friends, do ye not know
On every jester, God, they say, doth blow
And sets him spinning like a top along?
Sing yourselves, lads,—you who are young and strong."
"No jest, good father, none!" they answered him,
"But, since the wine o'erflows your goblet's brim,
Drink with us, Ambroi, and then to your song!"
"Ay, ay, when I was young—but that was long
Ago—I 'd sing to any man's desire;
But now my voice is but a broken lyre."
"But, Master Ambroi," urged Mirèio,
"Sing one song, please, because 'twill cheer us so."
"My pretty one," the weaver said again,
"Only the husks of my old voice remain;
But if these please you, I cannot say nay,"
And drained his goblet, and began straightway:—
I.
Our captain was Bailly Suffren;
We had sailed from Toulon,
Five hundred sea-faring Provençaux,
Stout-hearted and strong:
