“’Tis sure a maid was made for man,
   ’Twas e’en so since the world began,
   Yet doleful here, I only can
      Sing willow!”

("And may the blessed saints have an eye upon her tender slumbers!”)

Here Giles paused to sigh amain, to fold his arms, to cross his legs, to frown and shake gloomy head; having done the which, he took breath and sang again as followeth:—­

  “Alack-a-day, alas and woe! 
   Would that Genevra fair might know
   ’Tis for her love Giles of the Bow
      Sings willow!”

But now, chancing to turn and espy Beltane, Giles fell suddenly abashed, his comely face grew ruddy ’neath its tan and he sprang very nimbly to his feet: 

“Ha, tall brother—­good brother,” he stammered, “noble lord, God den to ye—­hail and good morrow!  Verily and in faith, by Saint Giles (my patron saint, brother) I do rejoice to see thee abroad again, as will our surly Rogerkin that doth gloom and glower for thee and hath hung about thy chamber door morn and noon and night, and our noble Sir Benedict and Walkyn—­but none more unfeignedly than Giles that doth grow glad because of thee—­”

“That is well,” quoth Beltane, seating himself upon the battlement, “for verily thy song was vastly doleful, Giles!”

“My song, lord, my song?  Ha—­hum!  O verily, my song is a foolish song or the song of a fool, for fool am I, forsooth—­a love-lorn fool; a doleful fool, a very fool of fools, that in my foolish folly hath set his foolish heart on thing beyond reach of such base fool as I. In a word, tall brother, I’m a fool, videlicet—­a lover!”

“Truly, hast the speech and outward seeming of your approved lover, Giles,” nodded Beltane.

“Aye, verily!” sighed Giles, “aye, verily—­behold my beard, I have had no heart to trim it this sennight!  Alack, I—­I that was so point-de-vice am like to become a second Diogenes (a filthy fellow that never washed and lived in a foul tub!).  As for food, I eat no more than the chameleon that doth fill its belly with air and nought else, foolish beast!  I, that was wont to be a fair figure of a man do fall away to skin and bone, daily, hourly, minute by minute—­behold this leg, tall brother!” And Giles thrust out a lusty, mailed limb.  “Here was a leg once—­a proper shapely leg to catch a woman’s eye—­see how it hath shrunk, nay, faith, ’tis hidden in mine armour!  But verily, my shanks will soon be no thicker than my bowstave!  Lastly I—­I that loved company and good cheer do find therein abomination these days, so do I creep, like moulting fowl, brother, to corners dark and dismal and there make much ado—­and such is love, O me!”

“Doth the maid know of thy love?”

“Nay lord, good lack, how should she?—­who am I to speak of it?  She is a fair lady and noble, a peerless virgin, while I—­I am only Giles—­ poor Giles o’ the Bow, after all!”

“Truly, love is teaching thee wisdom, Giles,” said Beltane, smiling.