“Canst thou back a horse?” said the Lord.  Said Ralph:  “As well as many.”  Said the Lord:  “Canst thou break a wild horse, and shoe him, and physic him?”

“Not worse than some,” said Ralph.

“Can’st thou play with sword and spear?” said the Lord.

“Better than some few,” said Ralph.  “How shall I know that?” said the Lord.  Said Ralph:  “Try me, lord!” Indeed, he half hoped that if it came to that, he might escape in the hurley.

The Lord looked on him and said:  “Well, it may be tried. 
But here is a cold and proud answerer, David.  I misdoubt me
whether it be worth while bringing him home.”

David looked timidly on Ralph and said:  “Thou hast paid the price for him, lord.”

“Yea, that is true,” said the Lord.  “Thou! can’st thou play at the chess?” “Yea,” said Ralph.  “Can’st thou music?” said the other.  “Yea,” said Ralph, “when I am merry, or whiles indeed when I am sad.”

The lord said:  “Make thyself merry or sad, which thou wilt; but sing, or thou shalt be beaten.  Ho!  Bring ye the harp.”  Then they brought it as he bade.

But Ralph looked to right and left and saw no deliverance, and knew this for the first hour of his thralldom.  Yet, as he thought of it all, he remembered that if he would do, he must needs bear and forbear; and his face cleared, and he looked round about again and let his eyes rest calmly on all eyes that he met till they came on the Lord’s face again.  Then he let his hand fall into the strings and they fell a-tinkling sweetly, like unto the song of the winter robin, and at last he lifted his voice and sang: 

    Still now is the stithy this morning unclouded,
    Nought stirs in the thorp save the yellow-haired maid
    A-peeling the withy last Candlemas shrouded
    From the mere where the moorhen now swims unafraid.

    For over the Ford now the grass and the clover
    Fly off from the tines as the wind driveth on;
    And soon round the Sword-howe the swathe shall lie over,
    And to-morrow at even the mead shall be won.

    But the Hall of the Garden amidst the hot morning,
    It drew my feet thither; I stood at the door,
    And felt my heart harden ’gainst wisdom and warning
    As the sun and my footsteps came on to the floor.

    When the sun lay behind me, there scarce in the dimness
    I say what I sought for, yet trembled to find;
    But it came forth to find me, until the sleek slimness
    Of the summer-clad woman made summer o’er kind.

    There we the once-sundered together were blended,
    We strangers, unknown once, were hidden by naught. 
    I kissed and I wondered how doubt was all ended,
    How friendly her excellent fairness was wrought.

    Round the hall of the Garden the hot sun is burning,
    But no master nor minstrel goes there in the shade,
    It hath never a warden till comes the returning,
    When the moon shall hang high and all winds shall be laid.