Think not discourtesy,
But lords’ commands must be obey’d;
And Marmion and the Douglas said, 860
  That you must wend with me. 
Lord Marmion hath a letter broad,
Which to the Scottish Earl he show’d,
Commanding, that, beneath his care,
Without delay, you shall repair 865
To your good kinsman, Lord Fitz-Clare.’

XXX.

The startled Abbess loud exclaim’d;
But she, at whom the blow was aim’d,
Grew pale as death, and cold as lead,—­
She deem’d she heard her death-doom read. 870
‘Cheer thee, my child!’ the Abbess said,
’They dare not tear thee from my hand,
To ride alone with armed band.’—­
  ‘Nay, holy mother, nay,’
Fitz-Eustace said, ’the lovely Clare 875
Will be in Lady Angus’ care,
  In Scotland while we stay;
And, when we move, an easy ride
Will bring us to the English side,
Female attendance to provide 880
  Befitting Gloster’s heir;
Nor thinks, nor dreams, my noble lord,
By slightest look, or act, or word,
  To harass Lady Clare. 
Her faithful guardian he will be, 885
Nor sue for slightest courtesy
  That e’en to stranger falls,
Till he shall place her, safe and free,
  Within her kinsman’s halls.’ 
He spoke, and blush’d with earnest grace; 890
His faith was painted on his face,
  And Clare’s worst fear relieved. 
The Lady Abbess loud exclaim’d
On Henry, and the Douglas blamed,
  Entreated, threaten’d, grieved; 895
To martyr, saint, and prophet pray’d,
Against Lord Marmion inveigh’d,
And call’d the Prioress to aid,
To curse with candle, bell, and book. 
Her head the grave Cistertian shook:  900
‘The Douglas, and the King,’ she said,
’In their commands will be obey’d;
Grieve not, nor dream that harm can fall
The maiden in Tantallon hall.’

XXXI.

The Abbess, seeing strife was vain, 905
Assumed her wonted state again,-
  For much of state she had,—­
Composed her veil, and raised her head,
And—­’Bid,’ in solemn voice she said,
  ’Thy master, bold and bad, 910
The records of his house turn o’er,
  And, when he shall there written see,
  That one of his own ancestry
  Drove the monks forth of Coventry,
Bid him his fate explore! 915
  Prancing in pride of earthly trust,
  His charger hurl’d him to the dust,
  And, by a base plebeian thrust,
He died his band before. 
  God judge ’twixt Marmion and me; 920
  He is a Chief of high degree,
And I a poor recluse;