So that John the Baptist might once more seem glad Sire I'd dance to the Seraphim's pride Mother tell me why it is you are so sad In your robe of a countess at the Dauphin's side My heart beat beat more loudly at his word While I danced in the fennel hearkening And I broidered lilies for a pennon-bird At the end of his lance for to swing Now for whom do you want me to broider this thing His lance buds again on the Jordan banks And the lilies by your soldiers O Herod king When they bore him away drooped dead in their ranks Come all of you with me below the quincunce Weep not pretty royal jester steady Take this head dance with it for your motley dunce Don't touch his brow mother dear is cold already Sire march before your troops will follow arter We'll dig a ditch and lay him underground We'll plant some flowers and we'll dance a round Till I have lost my garter The king his sneeze-starter The child his prayer-charter The priest his soul-barter |