THERE were stately nuptials in France,
In the royal town of Paris:
Who is it leads the dance?
The lovely Lady Beatriz.

Who is it gazes on her,
With looks so earnest and bright?
'Tis her noblest Page of Honour,
Don Martin, Count and Knight.

The bride and her maidens advance—
Young Count, why lookest thou so?
Are thy dark eyes fixed on the dance,
Or on me? Oh! I fain would know.

I gaze not upon the dance,
Sweet Beatriz, lady mine;
For many a galliard I've seen in France,
But never such beauty as thine.

Then if thou lovest me so, young Count,
Oh! take me away with thee;
For nor gay nor young, though a prince's son,
Is the bridegroom they'd wed with me.

There was mourning in France, I ween,
In the royal town of Paris;
For no more was seen either Count MartÍn
Or the lovely Lady Beatriz.