each other.”    And speaking thus, he leapt on Black Lewin, And smote him twice full hard upon the chin, Two goodly blows upon that big, black jowl, Whereat Black Lewin lustily did howl And falling back, his polished bascinet With ringing clash the cold, hard flagstones met. Whereat his fellows, shouting fierce alarms, Incontinent betook them to their arms; And thus it seemed a fight there must have been But that a horseman sudden spurred between—   A blue-eyed youth with yellow, curling hair, Of slender shape, of face and feature fair, A dainty knight was he in very truth, A blue-eyed, merry, laughter-loving youth.    “Ha, knaves, what do ye with the Fool?” lisped he,   “Wilt strike a motley, dogs—a Fool? Let be! Though faith, 't would seem, Sir Fool, thou hast a fist That surly Lewin to his dole hath kissed. If it can strum thy lute but half as well, Then gestours all methinks thou should'st excel— 

   Ye rogues, pass Folly in, no man shall say That from our town we folly turned away. Come, follow, Fool, into the market-square, And give us earnest of thy foolish ware.”  

       Now it was market day, and within the goodly square were people come from near and far, a notable concourse, country folk and folk of the town, farmers and merchants, rustic maids, fair ladies, knights and esquires on horseback or a-foot, but who, hearing the jingle of the Duke's tinkling bells, seeing his flaunting cock's-comb, with one accord gathered to him from every quarter:     

   For when this long-legged gestour they espied, They, laughing, hemmed him in on every side, And, “See, a Fool! A Fool! The Fool must sing,”    And “Fool! A Fool!” upon the air did ring, Wherefore the Duke betook him to his lute, And strummed until the chattering crowd was mute. Then while all folk did hold their peace to hear, In golden voice he sang, full rich and clear:    “'A fool! A fool!' ye cry, A fool forsooth am I. But tell me, wise ones, if ye can, Where shall ye find a happy man? Lived there one since the world began? Come, answer ye To me!    “'What of the king?' says you. Says I to you—'Go to! A king despite his crown and throne, Hath divers troubles all his own. Such woes, methinks, as are unknown To such as ye, Or me!'    “'Ha, then—the rich!' ye cry,   'Not so in truth,' says I.   'The rich man's gold is load of care, That day and night he needs must bear; Less care he'd know if poor he were, As poor as ye, Or me!'    “For, sirs, as I do guess This thing called 'Happiness'   Man leaveth with his youth behind; So keep ye 

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