“Sir Pertinax, why curse ye so? Since thus in humble guise we go We merry chances oft may know, Sir Pertinax of Shene.”    “And chances woeful, lord, also!”    Quoth Pertinax of Shene.    “To every fool that passeth by These foolish bells shall testify That very fool, forsooth, am I, Good Pertinax of Shene!”    “And, lord, methinks they'll tell no lie!”    Growled Pertinax of Shene. Then spake the Knight in something of a pet,   “Par Dex, lord Duke—plague take it, how I sweat, By Cock, messire, ye know I have small lust Like hind or serf to tramp it i' the dust! Per De, my lord, a parch-ed pea am I—   I'm all athirst! Athirst? I am so dry My very bones do rattle to and fro And jig about within me as I go! Why tramp we thus, bereft of state and rank? Why go ye, lord, like foolish mountebank? And whither doth our madcap journey trend? And wherefore? Why? And, prithee, to what end?”    Then quoth the Duke, “See yonder in the green Doth run a cooling water-brook I ween, Come, Pertinax, beneath yon shady trees, And there whiles we do rest outstretched at ease Thy 'wherefores' and thy 'whys' shall answered be, And of our doings I will counsel thee.”    So turned they from the hot and dusty road Where, 'mid green shade, a rill soft-bubbling flowed, A brook that leapt and laughed in roguish wise, Whereat Sir Pertinax with scowling eyes   Did frown upon the rippling water clear, And sware sad oaths because it was not beer; Sighful he knelt beside this murmurous rill, Bent steel-clad head and bravely drank his fill. Then sitting down, quoth he: “By Og and Gog, I'll drink no more—nor horse am I nor dog To gulp down water—pest, I hate the stuff!”    “Ah!” laughed the Duke, “'tis plain hast had enough, And since well filled with water thou dost lie To answer thee thy questions fain am I. First then—thou art in lowly guise bedight, For that thou art my trusty, most-loved knight, Who at my side in many a bloody fray, With thy good sword hath smit grim Death away—”    “Lord,” quoth the Knight, “what's done is past return,   'Tis of our future doings I would learn.”    “Aye,” said the Duke, “list, Pertinax, and know   'Tis on a pilgrimage of love we go:   Mayhap hast heard the beauty and the fame Of fair Yolande, that young and peerless dame 

   “For whom so many noble lovers sigh And with each other in the lists do vie? Though much I've dreamed of sweet Yolanda's charms My days have passed in wars and feats of arms, For, Pertinax, this blemished face I bear, Should fright, methinks, a lady young and fair. And so it is that I have deemed it wiser To hide it when I might 'neath casque and visor—”    Hereat Sir Pertinax smote hand to 

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