Part 16

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(On the Road to the Tournament.)

(Lisa) “Aday, fool!”

(Fool) “Ah, lady fair, hath lost the silver of thy laugh, and dost thee wish me then to fetch it thee?”

(Lisa) “Yea, jester. Thou speaketh wisely; for may I ripple laughter from a sorry heart? Now tease me, then.”

(Fool) “A crooked laugh would be thy gift should I tease it with a crooked tale; and, lady, didst thee e’er behold a crooked laugh—one which holds within its crook a tear?”

(Lisa) “Oh, thou art in truth a fool. I’d bend the crook and strike the tear away.”

(Fool) “Aye, lady, so thou wouldst. But thou hast ne’er yet found thy lot to bear a crook held staunch within His hand! Spring rain would be thy tears—a balm to buy fresh beauties. And the fool? Ah, his do dry in dust, e’en before they fall!”

(Lisa) “Pish, jester, thy tears would paint thy face to crooked lines, and thee wouldst laugh to see the muck. My heart doth truly sorry. Hast heard the King hath promised me as wages for the joust? And thee dost know who rideth ’gainst my chosen?”

(Fool) “Aye, lady, the crones do wag, and I do promise ye they wear their necks becricked to see his palfrey pass. They do tell me that his sumpter-cloth doth trail like a ladies’ robe.”

(Lisa) “Yea, fool, and pledge me thy heart to tell it not, I did broider at its hem a thrush with mine own tress—a song to cheer his way, a wing to speed him on.”

(Fool) “Hear, Beppo, how she prates! Would I were a posey wreath and Beppo here a fashioner of song. We then would lend us to thy hand to offer as a token. But thou dost know a fool and ape are ever but a fool and ape. I’m off to chase thy truant laugh. Who cometh there? The dust doth rise like storm-cloud along the road ahead, and ’tis shot with glinting. Oh, I see the mantling flush of morning put to shame by the flushing of thy cheek! See, he doth ride with helmet ope. Its golden bars do clatter at the jolt, and—but stop, Beppo, she heareth not! We, poor beggars, thee and me—an ape with a tail and a fool with a heart!

“See, Beppo, I did tear a rose to tatters but to fling its petals ’neath her feet. They tell me that his lance doth bear a ribband blue and a curling lock of gold—and yet he treads the earth! Let’s then away!

The world may sorrow But the fool must laugh. ’Tis blessed grain That hath no chaff. To love an ape Is but to ape at love. I sought a hand, And found—a glove!

“Beppo, laugh, and prove thyself the fool’s! I fain would feel the yoke, lest I step too high.

“Come, we’ll seek the shelt’ring tree. I’ve in my kit a bit of curd. Thy conscience need not prick. I swear that Tonio, the rogue, did see me stow it there!

“Ah, me, ’tis such a home for fools, the earth. And they that are not fools are apes.

“I see the crowd bestringing ’long the road, and yonder clarion doth bid the riders come. Well, Beppo, do we ride? Come, chere, we may tramp our crooked path and ride astraddle of a cloud.

“She doth love him, then; and even now the horn doth sound anew—and she the prize!

“I call the God above to see the joke that fate hath played; for I do swear, Beppo, that when he rides he carries on his lance-point this heart.

“I fret me here, but dare I see the play? Yea, ’tis a poor fool that loveth not his jest.

“I go, Beppo; I know not why, save I do love her so.

“I’ll bear my hunch like a badge of His colors and I shall laugh, Beppo, shall laugh at losing. He loves me well, else why didst send me thee?

“The way seems over long.

“They parry at the ring! I see her veil to float like cloud upon the breeze.

“She sees me not. I wonder that she heareth not the thumping of my heart. My eyes do mist. Beppo, look thou! Ah, God, to see within her eyes the look of thine!

“They rank! And hell would cool my brow, I swear. Beppo, as thou lovest me, press sorely on my hump! Her face, Beppo, it swayeth everywhere, as a garden thick with bloom—a lily, white and glistening with a rain of tears. My heart hath torn asunder, that I know.

“The red knight now doth cast! O Heaven turn his lance!