THE CHRONICLE OF CLEMENDY
O lief sweetheart, I pray thee pity me,
I hunger for thy kisses evermore;
All through the nightertale I longed for thee.
Joyesse is turned to wo, and misery
Is my solace, certes, my heart is sore.
Yet these poor lips a smile at morning bore,
Though all the nightertale I longed for thee.
And then a slowly dying close on the lute, that seemed to tremble and thrill with love like the "yes" that comes at last, and to beat against the lattice like a bird against the bars of its cage. And seeing that Madam Maud was the chorister, you will not wonder that Sir Roger's head got between his hands, since this pretty girl was expensive in her habits and had cost him a lot of money, and he was so unfortunate as to be dreadfully fond of her; indeed her reproachful song was far from being deserved by her lover. But he knew that she was too great a luxury for a poor man, and it troubled him exceedingly to think with what inferior wares he would be forced to put up for the future. But his meditations were cut short by Master Hierome giving his final judgment that all these frolics must come to an end without delay, and that Sir Roger de Sco. Mauro would have to be content for a good many years to come with a rather retired and secluded manner of living. And the steward and the chaplain were obliged to confirm this
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