the sun, Will gladly run Away from Melancholy.    “And Fool, forsooth, a Fool am I, Well learned in foolish lore:   For I can sing ye, laugh or sigh:   Can any man do more? Hey, Folly—Folly, ho!   'Gainst sadness bar the door.    “A Fool am I, yet by fair leave, Poor Fools have hearts to feel. Poor Fools, like other fools, may grieve If they their woes conceal. Hither, Folly—Folly, ho! All Fools to Folly kneel.    “What though a Fool be melancholy, Sick, sick at heart—heigho! Pain must he hide 'neath laughing Folly, What Fool should heed his woe! Hither, Folly—Folly, ho! Fool must unpitied go.    “E'en though a Fool should fondly woo, E'en though his love be high, Poor Folly's fool must wear the rue, Proud love doth pass him by. Heigho, Folly—Folly, ho! Poor Fool may love—and die.    “Though Wisdom should in motley go, And fools the wise man ape; Who is there that shall Wisdom know Beneath a 'scalloped cape? Heigho, Folly—Folly, ho! Life is but sorry jape.    “So, hey, Folly—Folly, ho! And here's a song o' Folly, All 'neath the sun Do gladly run Away from Melancholy.”    The singing done, she viewed him kinder-eyed, Till eyes met eyes—when she did pout and frown, And chid him that his song was something sad, And vowed so strange a Fool was never seen. Then did she question him in idle wise As, who he was and whence he came and why? Whereto the Duke— 

       My daughter GILLIAN interposeth:     

   GILL:    Dear father, if you're in the vein, I'd like a little rhyme again; For blank verse is so hard to read, And yours is very blank indeed! MYSELF:    Girl, when blank verse I write for thee, I write it blank as blank can be. Stay, I'll declare (no poet franker)   No blank verse, Gill, was ever blanker. But:   Since, with your sex's sweet inconstancy, Rhymes now you wish, rhymes now I'll rhyme for thee:   As thus, my dear—   Give ear: 

       Whereto the Duke did instant make reply:     

   “Sweet lady, since you question me, Full blithely I will answer thee; And, since you fain would merry be, I'll sing and rhyme it merrily:    “Since Mirth's my trade and follies fond, Methinks a fair name were Joconde; And for thy sake I travail make Through briar and brake, O'er fen and lake, The Southward March beyond.    “For I an embassage do bear, Now unto thee, Yolande the fair, Which embassy, Now unto thee, Right soothfully, And truthfully, Most full, most free, Explicit I 'll declare.    “Thus: videlicit and to wit, Sith now thou art to wedlock fit—   

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