Gold on her head, and gold on her feet, And gold where the hems of her kirtle meet, And a golden girdle round my sweet;— Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.
Margaret's maids are fair to see, Freshly dress'd and pleasantly; Margaret's hair falls down to her knee;— Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.
If I were rich I would kiss her feet, I would kiss the place where the gold hems meet, And the golden girdle round my sweet — Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.
Ah me! I have never touch'd her hand; When the arriere-ban goes through the land, Six basnets under my pennon stand;— Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.
And many an one grins under his hood: “Sir Lambert de Bois, with all his men good, Has neither food nor firewood;” — Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.
If I were rich I would kiss her feet, And the golden girdle of my sweet, And thereabouts where the gold hems meet;— Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.
Yet even now it is good to think, While my few poor varlets grumble and drink In my desolate hall where the fires sink;— Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.
Of Margaret sitting glorious there, In glory of gold and glory of hair, And glory of glorious face most fair;— Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.
Likewise to-night I make good cheer, Because this battle draweth near: For what have I to lose or fear?— Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.
For, look you, my horse is good to prance A right fair measure in this war-dance, Before the eyes of Philip of France;— Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.
And sometime it may hap, perdie, While my new towers stand up three and three, And my hall gets painted fair to see — Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.—
That folks may say: “Times change, by the rood, For Lambert, banneret of the wood, Has heaps of food and firewood;— Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite;—
“And wonderful eyes, too, under the hood Of a damsel of right noble blood:” St. Ives, for Lambert of the wood!— Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.
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