XV.

The captain marked his altered look, And gave a squire the sign; A mighty wassail-bowl he took, And crowned it high with wine. “Now pledge me here, Lord Marmion: But first I pray thee fair, Where hast thou left that page of thine, That used to serve thy cup of wine, Whose beauty was so rare? When last in Raby towers we met, The boy I closely eyed, And often marked his cheeks were wet, With tears he fain would hide: His was no rugged horse-boy’s hand, To burnish shield or sharpen brand, Or saddle battle-steed; But meeter seemed for lady fair, To fan her cheek or curl her hair, Or through embroidery, rich and rare, The slender silk to lead: His skin was fair, his ringlets gold, His bosom—when he sighed— The russet doublet’s rugged fold Could scarce repel its pride! Say, hast thou given that lovely youth To serve in lady’s bower? Or was the gentle page, in sooth, A gentle paramour?”