her sons; do thou
Take mine; but I beseech, go not forth anywhere!"

"Just for one little hour, mine eyes to set
On my friend Thomas, whom I'm bound to meet!"

"Thy friend, indeed! Nay, nay! Thou meanest Franconnette,
Whom thou loves dearly! I wish thou'd love some other maid!
Oh, yes! I read it in thine eyes!
Though thou sing'st, art gay, thy secret bravely keeping,
That I may not be sad, yet all alone thou'rt weeping--
My head aches for thy misery;
Yet leave her, for thine own good, my dear Pascal;
She would so greatly scorn a working smith like thee,
With mother old in penury;
For poor we are--thou knowest truly.

"How we have sold and sold fill scarce a scythe remains.
Oh, dark the days this house hath seen
Since, Pascal, thou so ill hast been;
Now thou art well, arouse! do something for our gains
Or rest thee, if thou wilt; with suffering we can fight;
But, for God's love, oh! go not forth to-night!"

And the poor mother, quite undone,
Cried, while thus pleading with her son,
Who, leaning on his blacksmith's forge
The stifling sobs quelled in his gorge.
"'Tis very true," he said, "that we are poor,
But had I that forgot?... I go to work, my mother, now, be sure!"

No sooner said than done; for in a blink
Was heard the anvil's clink,
The sparks flew from the blacksmith's fire
Higher and still higher!
The forgeman struck the molten iron dead,
Hammer in hand, as if he had a hundred in his head!

But now, the Busking was apace,
And soon, from every corner place
The girls came with the skein of their own making
To wind up at this sweethearts' merry meeting.

In the large chamber, where they sat and winded
The threads, all doubly garnished,
The girls, the lads, plied hard their finger,
And swiftly wound together
The clews of lint so fair,
As fine as any hair.

The winding now was done; and the white wine, and rhymsters,
Came forth with rippling glass and porringers,
And brought their vivid vapours
To brighten up their capers--
Ah! if the prettiest were the best, with pride
I would my Franconnette describe.

Though queen of games, she was the last, not worst,
It is not that she reigned at present, yet was first.

"Hold! Hold!" she cried, the brown-haired maid,
Now she directed them from side to side--
Three women merged in one, they said-