Nay, my poor ruin, thank me not for coming; 'tis the common debt the high oweth to the low, the sound to the broken, the poem to the prose; nay, 'tis the duty a knight oweth to his lady's humblest menial." "And how is the lady ?" said I; for I wearied to hear of her, even from any lips.
"Hast thou seen the swan with wings new dressed float on the summer tide?
Hast thou heard the thrush, full-throated, call his mate across the lea?
Hast thou watched the moon soar up the heavens, sweeping aside the clouds, and defying the mists of earth?
Hast thou marked, my Dutchman, the summer laughter on a field of golden corn?
Hast thou tracked the merry breeze along the ripples of a dazzled ocean?
--" "Yes, yes," said I, "but what has that to do with the maiden we speak of ?" He smiled on me pityingly.
"Such, poor youth, is she; and such, methinks, am I become, who sit at her feet and sun myself in her light--" "'Tis dark down here," I said, "but you seem to me neither swan, nor thrush, nor moon, nor a corn field, nor an ocean.

But I thank you, even as you are, for coming." "'Tis a sign of a sound mind," said he, "when gratitude answereth to graciousness.

And now, prithee, how do you do ?" I told him I was better, and that I might not have mended so far, but for my dear master, Sir Ludar.
Then he bridled up and his cheeks coloured.
"Ah, Hercules is a good sailor, and a strong animal.

'Tis fit he should wait upon you, since you be in my present favour.

Moreover, like cureth like, as it is said; therefore he is better here tending you, than casting sheep's eyes on one who is as the sun above his head.