The fainting Fool from dreaded halls departs;
exhausted, he escapes from Robert’s glare.
He blinks a little; sniffs the heavy air,
then emptily he jests in fits and starts.
A little glimmer warns the land of dawn,
pale ribbons deck the sea towards the east;
and soon the cooks will rise to bake the feast
for Robert, though they stumble, scowl, and yawn.
The Fool beholds again the tiny plot
wherein are buried those who went before,
whose failure to amuse has cost them sore;
and knows that one day this will be his lot.
Out, out again though fields of wheat he runs,
wishing to live his life ‘neath other suns.
He knows he has some time to fill before
the daily business finally abates,
and Robert bellows hellish from the gates,
demanding prancing jokes and japes the more.
His time at large is full of hard demands;
he plans to raise the roof with ditties gay -
but lies there sobbing in the ditch all day,
and barely dares to dream of clapping hands.
These fields of wheat are groping for the sky;
the ground erupts in furious fertile growth.
The crops must ever grow; no time for sloth -
they grasp at clouds that furtively pass by.
Lonely at last the Fool can rest his nerves.
Above him, crazy nature Robert serves.
He heard a horse draw near with heavy gait,
a proud grey steed bedecked in gear of war.
Beside, a mighty armoured knight he saw,
who surely was accounted ‘mongst the great.
He seemed in doubt about his way, and so
the Fool, in hope that he would earn a rest
from Robert’s endless gaze that so oppressed,
asked where this wandering warrior sought to go.
Sir Trefor looked deep downward in the ditch,
wherein the Fool appeared to loaf at ease;
so thinking, Trefor bent down on his knees,
not knowing he appeared among the rich.
The Fool beheld young Trefor with his eyes;
but Fairy Sight arrayed him otherwise.