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THE PRINCESS;
And on the fourth I spake of why we came,And my betroth'd. 'You do us, Prince' he said,Airing a snowy hand and signet gem,'All honour. We remember love ourselvesIn our sweet youth: there did a compact passLong summers back, a kind of ceremony—I think the year in which our olives fail'd.I would you had her, Prince, with all my heart,With my full heart: but there were widows here,Two widows, Lady Psyche, Lady Blanche;They fed her theories, in and out of placeMaintaining that with equal husbandryThe woman were an equal to the man.They harp'd on this; with this our banquets rang;Our dances broke and buzz'd in knots of talk;Nothing but this; my very ears were hotTo hear them. Last, my daughter begg'd a boonA certain summer-palace which I haveHard by your father's frontier: I said no,Yet being an easy man, gave it; and there,
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