Sir, note this that I will say; That Lord who maketh corn with hay And morrows each of yesterday, He hath you in his hand,
By Satan I hold no such thing; For if wine swell within a king Whose ears for drink are hot and ring, The same shall dream of wine-bibbing Whilst he can lie or stand.
Peace now, lords, for Godis head, Ye chirk as starlings that be fed And gape as fishes newly dead; The devil put your bones to bed, Lo, this is all to say.
By Mahound, lords, I have good will This devil's bird to wring and spill; For now meseems our game goes ill, Ye have scant hearts to play.
Lo, sirs, this word is there said, That Urias the knight is dead Through some ill craft; by Poulis head, I doubt his blood hath made so red This bird that flew from the queen's bed Whereof ye have such fear.
Yea, my good knave, and is it said That I can raise men from the dead? By God I think to have his head Who saith words of my lady's bed For any thief to hear. _Et percutiat eum in capite._
I wis men shall spit at me, And say, it were but right for thee That one should hang thee on a tree; Ho! it were a fair thing to see The big stones bruise her false body; Fie! who shall see her dead?
I rede you have no fear of this, For, as ye wot, the first good kiss I had must be the last of his; Now are ye queen of mine, I wis, And lady of a house that is Full rich of meat and bread.
I bid you make good cheer to be So fair a queen as all men see. And hold us for your lieges free; By Peter's soul that hath the key, Ye have good hap of it.
I would that he were hanged and dead Who hath no joy to see your head With gold about it, barred on red; I hold him as a sow of lead That is so scant of wit.
O king, I have a word to thee; The child that is in Bersabe Shall wither without light to see; This word is come of God by me For sin that ye have done. Because herein ye did not right, To take the fair one lamb to smite That was of Urias the knight; Ye wist he had but one. Full many sheep I wot ye had, And many women, when ye bade, To do your will and keep you glad, And a good crown about your head With gold to show thereon. This Urias had one poor house With low-barred latoun shot-windows And scant of corn to fill a mouse; And rusty basnets for his brows, To wear them to the bone. Yea the roofs also, as men sain, Were thin to hold against the rain; Therefore what rushes were there lain Grew wet withouten foot of men; The stancheons were all gone in twain As sick man's flesh is gone. Nathless he had great joy to see The long hair of this Bersabe Fall round her lap and round her knee Even to her small soft feet, that be Shod now with crimson royally And covered with clean gold. Likewise great joy he had to kiss Her throat, where now the scarlet is Against her little chin, I wis, That then was but cold. No scarlet then her kirtle had And little gold about it sprad; But her red mouth was always glad To kiss, albeit the eyes were sad With love they had to hold.