Were I a doughty cavalier
On fire for high-born dame,
With sword and lance I would not fear
To win a warrior's fame.
But since no more stern deeds of blood
The gentle fair may move,
I 'll woo in softer better mood
The ladye that I love.
For helmet bright with steel and gold,
And plumes that flout the sky,
I 'll wear a soul of hardier mould,
And thoughts that sweep as high.
For scarf athwart my corslet cast,
With her fair name y-wove;
I 'll have her pictured in my breast,
The ladye that I love.
No crested steed through battle throng
Shall bear me bravely on,
But pride shall make my spirit strong,
Where honours may be won.
Amidst the great of mind and heart,
My prowess I will prove,
And thus I 'll win, by gentler art,
The ladye that I love.