The courtiers turned their eyes on the King, that they might be ready to trace and imitate the emotions his features should express, and Thomas de Vaux yawned tremendously, as one who submitted unwillingly to a wearisome penance.

The song of Blondel was of course in the Norman language, but the verses which follow express its meaning and its manner.
THE BLOODY VEST.
'Twas near the fair city of Benevent, When the sun was setting on bough and bent, And knights were preparing in bower and tent, On the eve of the Baptist's tournament; When in Lincoln green a stripling gent, Well seeming a page by a princess sent, Wander'd the camp, and, still as he went, Inquired for the Englishman, Thomas a Kent.
Far hath he far'd, and farther must fare, Till he finds his pavilion nor stately nor rare,-- Little save iron and steel was there; And, as lacking the coin to pay armourer's care, With his sinewy arms to the shoulders bare, The good knight with hammer and file did repair The mail that to-morrow must see him wear, For the honour of Saint John and his lady fair.
"Thus speaks my lady," the page said he, And the knight bent lowly both head and knee, "She is Benevent's Princess so high in degree, And thou art as lowly as knight may well be-- He that would climb so lofty a tree, Or spring such a gulf as divides her from thee, Must dare some high deed, by which all men may see His ambition is back'd by his hie chivalrie.
"Therefore thus speaks my lady," the fair page he said, And the knight lowly louted with hand and with head, "Fling aside the good armour in which thou art clad, And don thou this weed of her night-gear instead, For a hauberk of steel, a kirtle of thread; And charge, thus attir'd, in the tournament dread, And fight as thy wont is where most blood is shed, And bring honour away, or remain with the dead." Untroubled in his look, and untroubled in his breast, The knight the weed hath taken, and reverently hath kiss'd.

"Now blessed be the moment, the messenger be blest! Much honour'd do I hold me in my lady's high behest; And say unto my lady, in this dear night-weed dress'd, To the best armed champion I will not veil my crest; But if I live and bear me well 'tis her turn to take the test." Here, gentles, ends the foremost fytte of the Lay of the Bloody Vest.
"Thou hast changed the measure upon us unawares in that last couplet, my Blondel," said the King.
"Most true, my lord," said Blondel.

"I rendered the verses from the Italian of an old harper whom I met in Cyprus, and not having had time either to translate it accurately or commit it to memory, I am fain to supply gaps in the music and the verse as I can upon the spur of the moment, as you see boors mend a quickset fence with a fagot." "Nay, on my faith," said the King, "I like these rattling, rolling Alexandrines.

Methinks they come more twangingly off to the music than that briefer measure." "Both are licensed, as is well known to your Grace," answered Blondel.
"They are so, Blondel," said Richard, "yet methinks the scene where there is like to be fighting will go best on in these same thundering Alexandrines, which sound like the charge of cavalry, while the other measure is but like the sidelong amble of a lady's palfrey." "It shall be as your Grace pleases," replied Blondel, and began again to prelude.
"Nay, first cherish thy fancy with a cup of fiery Chios wine," said the King.