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THE PRINCESS;
My father, 'Tut, you know them not, the girls: They prize hard knocks and to be won by force, Boy, there's no rose that's half so dear to them As he that does the thing they dare not do, Breathing and sounding beauteous battle, comes With the air of the trumpet round him, and leaps in Among the women, snares them by the score Flatter'd and fluster'd, wins, tho' dash'd with death He reddens what he kisses: thus I won Your mother, a good mother, a good wife, Worth winning; but this firebrand—gentleness To such as her! if Cyril spake her true, To catch a dragon in a cherry net, To trip a tigress with a gossamer, Were wisdom to it.''Yea but Sire,' I cried, Wild natures need wise curbs. The soldier? No: What dares not Ida do that she should prize The soldier? I beheld her, when she roseThe yesternight, and storming in extremes
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