"For lovers there are many eyes,
And such there were on us;--the devil
On such occasions should be civil-- 320
The devil!--I'm loth to do him wrong,
It might be some untoward saint,
Who would not be at rest too long
But to his pious bile gave vent--
But one fair night, some lurking spies 325
Surprised and seized us both.
The Count was something more than wroth--
I was unarm'd; but if in steel,
All cap-à-pie[137] from head to heel,
What 'gainst their numbers could I do?-- 330
'Twas near his castle, far away
From city or from succour near,
And almost on the break of day;
I did not think to see another,
My moments seem'd reduced to few; 335
And with one prayer to Mary Mother,
And, it may be, a saint or two,
As I resign'd me to my fate,
They led me to the castle gate:
Theresa's doom I never knew, 340
Our lot was henceforth separate--
An angry man, ye may opine,
Was he, the proud Count Palatine;
And he had reason good to be,
But he was most enraged lest such 345
An accident should chance to touch
Upon his future pedigree;
Nor less amazed, that such a blot
His noble 'scutcheon[138] should have got,
While he was highest of his line; 350
Because unto himself he seem'd
The first of men, nor less he deem'd
In others' eyes, and most in mine.
'Sdeath! with a _page_--perchance a king
Had reconciled him to the thing; 355
But with a stripling of a page--
I felt--but cannot paint his rage.