THE LADY. 

O cavalier! what dost thou here, 
Thy tuneful vigils keeping; 
While the northern star looks cold from far 
And half the world is sleeping? 


THE KNIGHT. 

O lady! here, for seven long year, 
Have I been nightly sighing, 
Without the hope of a single tear 
To pity me were I dying. 


THE LADY. 

Should I take thee to have and to hold, 
Who hast nor lands nor money? 
Alas! 'tis only in flowers of gold 
That married bees flnd honey. 


THE KNIGHT. 

O lady fair! to my constant prayer 
Fate proves at last propitious; 
And bags of gold in my hand I bear, 
And parchment scrolls delicious. 


THE LADY. 

My maid the door shall open throw, 
For we too long have tarried: 
The friar keeps watch in the cellar below, 
And we will at once be married. 


THE FRIAR. 

My children! great is Fortune's power; 
And plain this truth appears, 
That gold thrives more in a single hour, 
Than love in seven long years.