'Tell me what message you have from the Fair-Girdled.' 'Wed or unwed, she is yours.

But she is kept in a tower until Palm Sunday.

Then they bring her out and marry her to what remains of a black Normandy pig.

Not very much remains, but (they tell me) enough for the purpose.' 'Spine of God,' said Richard, examining his finger-nails.
'Swear by His heart, rather, my Count,' Gaston said, 'for you have a red heart in your keeping.

Eh, eh, what a beautiful person is there! She leaned her body out of the window--what a shape that girdle confines! Bowered roses! Dian and the Nymphs! Bosomed familiars of old Pan! And what emerald fires! What molten hair! The words came shortly from her, and brokenly, as if her carved lips disdained such coarse uses! Richard, her words were so: "Take a message to my lord," quoth she.