The queen may take the forfeit of my head,
  Ere any of my race so foul a crone shall wed. 
  Both heard, the judge pronounced against the knight;
  So was he married in his own despite;
  And all day after hid him as an owl,
  Not able to sustain a sight so foul. 
  Perhaps the reader thinks I do him wrong,
  To pass the marriage feast, and nuptial song: 
  Mirth there was none, the man was a-la-mort, 340
  And little courage had to make his court. 
  To bed they went, the bridegroom and the bride: 
  Was never such an ill-pair’d couple tied,
  Restless, he toss’d and tumbled to and fro,
  And roll’d, and wriggled further off, for woe. 
  The good old wife lay smiling by his side,
  And caught him in her quivering arms, and cried,
  When you my ravish’d predecessor saw,
  You were not then become this man of straw;
  Had you been such, you might have ’scaped the law. 350
  Is this the custom of King Arthur’s court? 
  Are all round-table knights of such a sort? 
  Remember, I am she who saved your life,
  Your loving, lawful, and complying wife: 
  Not thus you swore in your unhappy hour,
  Nor I for this return employ’d my power. 
  In time of need I was your faithful friend;
  Nor did I since, nor ever will offend. 
  Believe me, my loved lord, ’tis much unkind;
  What fury has possess’d your alter’d mind? 360
  Thus on my wedding night—­without pretence—­
  Come turn this way, or tell me my offence. 
  If not your wife, let reason’s rule persuade;
  Name but my fault, amends shall soon be made. 
  Amends! nay, that’s impossible, said he,
  What change of age or ugliness can be? 
  Or could Medea’s magic mend thy face,
  Thou art descended from so mean a race,
  That never knight was match’d with such disgrace. 
  What wonder, madam, if I move my side, 370
  When, if I turn, I turn to such a bride? 
  And is this all that troubles you so sore? 
  And what the devil couldst thou wish me more? 
  Ah, Benedicite, replied the crone;
  Then cause of just complaining have you none. 
  The remedy to this were soon applied,
  Would you be like the bridegroom to the bride: 
  But, for you say a long descended race,
  And wealth and dignity, and power and place,
  Make gentlemen, and that your high degree 380
  Is much disparaged to be match’d with me;
  Know this, my lord, nobility of blood
  Is but a glittering and fallacious good: 
  The nobleman is he, whose noble mind
  Is fill’d with inborn worth, unborrow’d from his kind. 
  The King of Heaven was in a manger laid,
  And took his earth but from an humble maid;
  Then what can birth, or mortal men, bestow? 
  Since floods no higher than their fountains flow.