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• The shadows fall along the wall,
• It's night at Haye-la-Serre;
• The maidens weave since day grew eve,
• The lady's in her chair.

• O passing slow the long hours go
• With time to think and sigh,
• When weary maidens weave beneath
• A listless lady's eye.

• It's two days that Earl Simon's gone
• 10 And it's the second night;
• At Haye-la-Serre the lady's fair,
• In June the moon is light.

• O it's ‘Maids, ye'll wake till I come back,’
• And the hound's i' the lady's chair:
• No shuttles fly, the work stands by,
• It's play at Haye-la-Serre.

• The night is worn, the lamp's forlorn,
• The shadows waste and fail;
• There's morning air at Haye-la-Serre,
• 20 The watching maids look pale.

• O all unmarked the birds at dawn
• Where drowsy maidens be;
• But heard too soon the lark's first tune
• Beneath the trysting-tree.

• ‘Hold me thy hand, sweet Dennis Shand,
• Says the Lady Joan de Haye,
• ‘That thou to-morrow do forget
• To-day and yesterday.

• ‘For many a weary month to come
• 30 My lord keeps house with me,
• And sighing summer must lie cold
• In winter's company.

• ‘And many an hour I'll pass thee by
• And see thee and be seen;
• Yet not a glance must tell by chance
• How sweet these hours have been.

• ‘We've all to fear; there's Maud the spy,
• There's Ann whose face I scor'd,
• There's Blanch tells Huot everything,
• 40 And Huot loves my lord.

• ‘But O and it's my Dennis'll know,
• When my eyes look weary dim,
• Who finds the gold for his girdle-fee
• And who keeps love for him.’

• The morrow's come and the morrow-night,
• It's feast at Haye-la-Serre,
• And Dennis Shand the cup must hand
• Beside Earl Simon's chair.

• And still when the high pouring's done
• 50 And cup and flagon clink,
• Till his lady's lips have touched the brim
• Earl Simon will not drink.

• ‘But it's, ‘Joan my wife,’ Earl Simon says,
• ‘Your maids are white and wan.’
• And it's, ‘O,’ she says, ‘they've watched the night
• With Maud's sick sister Ann.’

• But it's, ‘Lady Joan and Joan my bird,
• Yourself look white and wan.’
• And it's, ‘O, I've walked the night myself
• 60 To pull the herbs for Ann:

• ‘And some of your knaves were at the hutch
• And some in the cellarage,
• But the only one that watched with us
• Was Dennis Shand your page.

• ‘Look on the boy, sweet honey lord,
• And mark his drooping e'e:
• The rosy colour's not yet back
• That paled in serving me.’

• O it's, ‘Wife, your maids are foolish jades,
• 70 And you're a silly chuck,
• And the lazy knaves shall get their staves
• About their ears for luck:

• ‘But Dennis Shand may take the cup
• And pour the wine to his hand;
• Wife, thou shalt touch it with thy lips,
• And drink thou, Dennis Shand!’