She clad herself in a russet gown, She was no longer Lady Clare: She went by dale, and she went by down, With a single rose in her hair. The lily-white doe Lord Ronald had brought Leapt up from where she lay. Dropped her head in the maiden's hand. And followed her all the way.

'If I'm a beggar born,' she said 'I will speak out, for I dare not lie, Pull off, pull off the brooch of gold, And fling the diamond necklace by.' 'Nay now, my…

'If I come dressed like a village maid, I am but as my fortunes are: I am a beggar born,' she said, 'And not the Lady Clare.'

'He does not love me for my birth Nor for my lands so broad and fair; He loves me for my own true worth, And that is well,' said Lady Clare.

Here take back the stuff that I am, nature, knead it back into the dough of being, make of me a bush, a cloud, whatever you will, even a man, only no longer ma…

Natura il fece, e poi roppe la stampa.

At present there is no distinction among the upper ten thousand of the city.