  Of Love he sang, full-hearted one. But when the song was done The King demanded more, Ay, and commanded more. The boy found nothing for encore, Words, melodies, none: Ashamed the song’s glad rise and plaintive fall Had so charmed King and Queen and all. He sang the same verse once again, But urging less Love’s pain, With altered time and key He showed variety, Seemed to refresh the harmony Of his only strain, So still the glad rise and the plaintive fall Could charm the King, the Queen, and all. He of his song then wearying ceased, But was not yet released; The Queen’s request was More, And her behest was More. He played of random notes some score, He found his rhymes at least— Then suddenly let his twangling harp down fall And fled in tears from King and Queen and all. |
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