Thus full of counsel to the fen she went, Griped all the way, and longing for a vent; Arrived, by pure necessity compelled, On her majestic marrow-bones she kneeled: Then to the water's brink she laid her head, And as a bittour bumps[209] within a reed,-- To thee alone, O lake! she said, I tell, (And, as thy queen, command thee to conceal:) Beneath his locks, the king my husband wears A goodly royal pair of asses ears: Now I have eased my bosom of the pain, Till the next longing fit return again.-- Thus through a woman was the secret known; Tell us, and, in effect, you tell the town. But to my tale: The knight, with heavy cheer, Wandering in vain, had now consumed the year; One day was only left to solve the doubt, Yet knew no more than when he first set out. But home he must; and, as the award had been, Yield up his body captive to the queen. In this despairing state he hap'd to ride, As fortune led him, by a forest side; Lonely the vale, and full of horror stood, Brown with the shade of a religious wood; When full before him, at the noon of night, (The moon was up, and shot a gleamy light,) He saw a quire of ladies in a round, That featly footing seemed to skim the ground. Thus dancing hand in hand, so light they were, He knew not where they trod, on earth or air. At speed he drove, and came a sudden guest; } In hope, where many women were, at least } Some one, by chance, might answer his request. } But faster than his horse the ladies flew, And in a trice were vanished out of view. One only hag remained; but fouler far Than grandame apes in Indian forests are; Against a withered oak she leaned her weight, } Propped on her trusty staff, not half upright, } And dropped an awkward courtesy to the knight. } Then said, What makes you, sir, so late abroad Without a guide, and this no beaten road? Or want you aught that here you hope to find, Or travel for some trouble in your mind? The last I guess; and if I read aright, Those of our sex are bound to serve a knight. Perhaps good counsel may your grief assuage, Then tell your pain, for wisdom is in age.-- To this the knight: Good mother, would you know The secret cause and spring of all my woe? My life must with to-morrow's light expire, Unless I tell what women most desire. Now could you help me at this hard essay, Or for your inborn goodness, or for pay, Yours is my life, redeemed by your advice, Ask what you please, and I will pay the price: The proudest kerchief of the court shall rest Well satisfied of what they love the best.-- Plight me thy faith, quoth she, that what I ask, Thy danger over, and performed the task, That shalt thou give for hire of thy demand, (Here take thy oath, and seal it on my hand,) I warrant thee, on peril of my life, Thy words shall please both widow, maid, and wife.--