“’No wife it shall become,
      That once hath been to blame.’ 
    Then every knight in Arthur’s court
      Sly glanced at his dame.

    “And first came Lady Guenever,
      The mantle she must try. 
    This dame she was new-fangled, [1]
      And of a roving eye.

    “When she had taken the mantle,
      And all with it was clad,
    From top to toe it shivered down,
      As though with shears beshred.

    “One while it was too long,
      Another while too short,
    And wrinkled on her shoulders,
      In most unseemly sort.

    “Now green, now red it seemed,
      Then all of sable hue;
    ‘Beshrew me,’ quoth King Arthur,
      ‘I think thou be’st not true!’

    “Down she threw the mantle,
      No longer would she stay;
    But, storming like a fury,
      To her chamber flung away.

    “She cursed the rascal weaver,
      That had the mantle wrought;
    And doubly cursed the froward imp
      Who thither had it brought.

    I had rather live in deserts,
      Beneath the greenwood tree,
    Than here, base king, among thy grooms
      The sport of them and thee.’

    “Sir Kay called forth his lady,
      And bade her to come near: 
    ’Yet dame, if thou be guilty,
      I pray thee now forbear.’

    “This lady, pertly giggling,
      With forward step came on,
    And boldly to the little boy
      With fearless face is gone.

    “When she had taken the mantle,
      With purpose for to wear,
    It shrunk up to her shoulder,
      And left her back all bare.

    “Then every merry knight,
      That was in Arthur’s court,
    Gibed and laughed and flouted,
      To see that pleasant sport.

    “Down she threw the mantle,
      No longer bold or gay,
    But, with a face all pale and wan
      To her chamber slunk away.

    “Then forth came an old knight
      A pattering o’er his creed,
    And proffered to the little boy
       Five nobles to his meed: 

    “’And all the time of Christmas
      Plum-porridge shall be thine,
    If thou wilt let my lady fair
      Within the mantle shine.’

    “A saint his lady seemed,
      With step demure and slow,
    And gravely to the mantle
      With mincing face doth go.

    “When she the same had taken
      That was so fine and thin,
    It shrivelled all about her,
      And showed her dainty skin.

    “Ah! little did her mincing,
      Or his long prayers bestead;
     She had no more hung on her
      Than a tassel and a thread.

    “Down she threw the mantle,
      With terror and dismay,
    And with a face of scarlet
      To her chamber hied away.