A watcher or two stole into the upper gallery, leaned on the parapet and listened, for both men were renowned singers.
Richard began to sing of green-eyed Jehane, who wore the gold girdle, whose hair was red gold.

His song was-- Li dous consire Quem don' Amors soven-- but I English it thus-- 'That gentle thought which love will give sometimes is like a plait of silk and gold, and so is this song of mine to be; wherein you shall find a red deep cry which cometh from the heart, and a thin blue cry which is the cry of what is virgin in my soul, and a golden long cry, the cry of the King, and a cry clear as crystal and colder than a white moon: and that is the cry of Jehane.' Bertran, trembling, snatched at the viol.

'Mine to sing, Richard, mine to sing! Ha, love me no more!' Cantar d' Amors non voilh, he began-- 'Your strands are warped and will not accord, for love will warp any song.

It turneth the heart of a man black, and the soul it eateth up.

At fourteen goes the virgin first a-wallowing; and soon the King croaks like a hog.