A little wand he drew;
And with it eke a mantle,
Of wondrous shape and hue.
"Now have thou here, King Arthur,
Have this here of me,
And give unto thy comely queen,
All shapen as you see.
"No wife it shall become,
That once hath been to blame."
Then every knight in Arthur's court
Sly glanced at his dame.
And first came Lady Guenever,
The mantle she must try.
This dame she was new-fangled*
And of a roving eye.
When she had taken the mantle,
And all with it was clad,
From top to toe it shivered down,
As though with shears beshred.
One while it was too long,
Another while too short,
And wrinkled on the shoulders,
In most unseemly sort.
Now green, now red it seemed,
Then all of sable hue;
"Beshrew me," quoth King Arthur,
"I think thou be'st not true!"
Down she threw the mantle,
No longer would she stay;
But, storming like a fury,
To her chamber flung away.
She cursed the rascal weaver,
That had the mantle wrought;
And doubly cursed the froward imp
Who thither had it brought.
"I had rather live in deserts,
Beneath the greenwood tree,
Than here, base king, among thy grooms,
The sport of them and thee."
Sir Kay called forth his lady,
And bade her to come near:
"Yet, dame, if thou be guilty,
I pray thee now forbear."
This lady, pertly giggling,
With forward step came on,
And boldly to the little boy
With fearless face is gone.
When she had taken the mantle,
With purpose for to wear,
It shrunk up to her shoulder,
And left her back all bare.
Then every merry knight,
That was in Arthur's court,
Gibed and laughed and flouted,
To see that pleasant sport.
Down she threw the mantle,
No longer bold or gay,
But, with a face all pale and wan,
To her chamber slunk away.
Then forth came an old knight
A-pattering o'er his creed,
And proffered to the little boy
Five nobles to his meed:
"And all the time of Christmas
Plum-porridge shall be thine,
If thou wilt let my lady fair
Within the mantle shine."
A saint his lady seemed,
With step demure and slow,
And gravely to the mantle
With mincing face doth go.
When she the same had taken
That was so fine and thin,
It shrivelled all about her,
And showed her dainty skin.
Ah! little did her mincing,
Or his long prayers bestead;
She had no more hung on her
Than a tassel and a thread.
Down she threw the mantle,
With terror and dismay,
And with a face of scarlet
To her chamber hied away.
Sir Cradock called his lady,
And bade her to come near;
"Come win this mantle, lady,
And do me credit here:
"Come win this mantle, lady,
For now it shall be thine,
If thou hast never done amiss,
Since first I made thee mine."
The lady, gently blushing,
With modest grace came on;
And now to try the wondrous charm
Courageously is gone.
When she had taken the mantle,
And put it on her back,
About the hem it seemed
To wrinkle and to crack.
"Lie still," she cried, "O mantle!