Albeit long years laid up in tilth. Most meet

Thou sing that slim and sweet

Fair woman for whose bosom and delight

Paris, as well he might,

Wrought all the woe, and held her to his cost

And Troy's, and won and lost

Perforce; for who could look on her or feel

Her near and not dare steal

One hour of her, or hope to hold in bars

Such wonder of the stars

Undimmed? As soon expect to cage the rose

[2]

Of dawn which comes and goes

Fitful, or leash the shadows of the hills,

Or music of upland rills

As Helen's beauty and not tarnish it

With thy poor market wit,

Adept to hue the wanton in the wild,

Defile the undefiled!

Yet by the oath thou swearedst, standing high

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