| |
MY liege, I did deny no prisoners. | |
| But, I remember, when the fight was done, | |
| When I was dry with rage and extreme toil, | |
| Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, | |
| Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dressed, | 5 |
| Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin, new reaped, | |
| Showed like a stubble-land at harvest-home. | |
| He was perfuméd like a milliner; | |
| And ’twixt his finger and his thumb he held | |
| A pouncet-box, which ever and anon | 10 |
| He gave his nose and took ’t away again; | |
| Who, therewith angry, when it next came there, | |
| Took it in snuff. And still he smiled and talked; | |
| And, as the soldiers bore dead bodies by, | |
| He called them untaught knaves, unmannerly, | 15 |
| To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse | |
| Betwixt the wind and his nobility. | |
| With many holiday and lady terms | |
| He questioned me; among the rest demanded | |
| My prisoners, in your Majesty’s behalf. | 20 |
| I then, all smarting with my wounds being cold, | |
| Out of my grief and my impatience | |
| To be so pestered with a popinjay, | |
| Answered neglectingly, I know not what, | |
| He should or he should not; for he made me mad, | 25 |
| To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet, | |
| And talk, so like a waiting-gentlewoman, | |
| Of guns, and drums, and wounds—God save the mark!— | |
| And telling me the sovereign’st thing on earth | |
| Was parmaceti, for an inward bruise; | 30 |
| And that it was great pity, so it was, | |
| This villanous saltpetre should be digged | |
| Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, | |
| Which many a good tall fellow had destroyed | |
| So cowardly; and, but for these vile guns, | 35 |
| He would himself have been a soldier. | |
| This bald, unjointed chat of his, my lord, | |
| I answered indirectly, as I said; | |
| And, I beseech you, let not his report | |
| Come current for an accusation, | 40 |
| Betwixt my love and your high Majesty. | |
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