Down stepped Lord Ronald from his tower: “O Lady Clare, you shame your worth! Why come you dressed like a village maid, That are the flower of the earth?”     

    

       “If I come dressed like a village maid, I am but as my fortunes are: I am a beggar born,” she said, “And not the Lady Clare.”     

  

       “Play me no tricks,” said Lord Ronald, “For I am yours in word and in deed; Play me no tricks,” said Lord Ronald, “Your riddle is hard to read.”     

  

       Oh, and proudly stood she up! Her heart within her did not fail:       She looked into Lord Ronald’s eyes, And told him all her nurse’s tale.     

  

       He laughed a laugh of merry scorn: He turned and kissed her where she stood; “If you are not the heiress born, And I,”       said he, “the next in blood—     

       “If you are not the heiress born, And I,” said he,       “the lawful heir, We two will wed to-morrow morn, And you shall still be Lady Clare.”     

  

 Prev. P 3/3