LORD ROCHESTER'S SONG

 ("Un soldat au dur visage.") 
 
 {CROMWELL, ACT I.} 


 "Hold, little blue-eyed page!" 
 So cried the watchers surly, 
 Stern to his pretty rage 
 And golden hair so curly— 
 "Methinks your satin cloak 
 Masks something bulky under; 
 I take this as no joke— 
 Oh, thief with stolen plunder!" 
 
 "I am of high repute, 
 And famed among the truthful: 
 This silver-handled lute 
 Is meet for one still youthful 
 Who goes to keep a tryst 
 With her who is his dearest. 
 I charge you to desist; 
 My cause is of the clearest." 
 
 But guardsmen are so sharp, 
 Their eyes are as the lynx's: 
 "That's neither lute nor harp— 
 Your mark is not the minxes. 
 Your loving we dispute— 
 That string of steel so cruel 
 For music does not suit— 
 You go to fight a duel!" 


 

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