The Geste of Duke Jocelyn

Excerpt

PRELUDE

  Long, long ago when castles grim did frown,
  When massy wall and gate did 'fend each town;
  When mighty lords in armour bright were seen,
  And stealthy outlaws lurked amid the green
  And oft were hanged for poaching of the deer,
  Or, gasping, died upon a hunting spear;
  When barons bold did on their rights insist
  And hanged or burned all rogues who dared resist;
  When humble folk on life had no freehold
  And were in open market bought and sold;
  When grisly witches (lean and bony hags)
  Cast spells most dire yet, meantime, starved in rags;
  When kings did lightly a-crusading fare
  And left their kingdoms to the devil's care—
  At such a time there lived a noble knight
  Who sweet could sing and doughtily could fight,
  Whose lance thrust strong, whose long sword bit
  full deep
  With darting point or mighty two-edged sweep.
  A duke was he, rich, powerful—and yet
  Fate had on him a heavy burden set,
  For, while a youth, as he did hunt the boar,
  The savage beast his goodly steed did gore,
  And as the young duke thus defenceless lay,
  With cruel tusk had reft his looks away,
  Had marred his comely features and so mauled him
  That, 'hind his back, "The ugly Duke" folk called
  him—

My daughter GILLIAN interposeth:

GILL: An ugly hero?

MYSELF: That is so.

GILL: An ugly hero, father? O, absurd! Whoever of an "ugly" hero heard?

MYSELF: I'll own, indeed, I've come across but few—

GILL: But a duke—and ugly! Father, this from you?

MYSELF: My duke is ugly, very, for good reason, As shall appear in due and proper season!

GILL: I'm sure no one will want to read him then, For "heroes" all should be most handsome men. So make him handsome, please, or he won't do.

MYSELF: By heaven, girl—no, plain heroes are too few!

GILL: Then ev'ry one will leave him on the shelf!

MYSELF: Why, then, I'll read the poor fellow myself.

GILL: I won't!

MYSELF: Then don't! Though, I might say, since you're set on it, child, My duke was not so ugly when he smiled—

GILL: Then make him smile as often as you can.

MYSELF: I might do that, 't is none so bad a plan.

GILL: And the lady—she must be a lady fair.

MYSELF: My dear, she's beautiful beyond compare.

GILL: Why, then—

MYSELF: My pen!

  So here and now I do begin
  The tale of young Duke Jocelyn,
  For critics, schools,
  And cramping rules,
  Heedless and caring not a pin.

  The title here behold
  On this fair page enrolled,
  In letters big and bold,
  As seemeth fit—
  To wit:—

FYTTE I

  Upon a day, but when it matters not,
  Nor where, but mark! the sun was plaguy hot
  Falling athwart a long and dusty road
  In which same dust two dusty fellows strode.
  One was a tall, broad-shouldered, goodly wight
  In garb of motley like a jester dight,
  Fool's cap on head with ass's ears a-swing,
  While, with each stride, his bells did gaily ring;
  But, 'neath his cock's-comb showed a face so marred
  With cheek, with brow and lip so strangely scarred
  As might scare tender maid or timid child
  Unless, by chance, they saw him when he smiled,
  For then his eyes, so deeply blue and bright,
  Did hold in them such joyous, kindly light,
  That sorrow was from heavy hearts beguiled—
  This jester seemed less ugly when he smiled....