Lord Rochester’s Song

[CROMWELL, ACT I.] 'Hold, little blue-eyed page!' So cried the watchers surly, Stern to his pretty rage And golden hair so curly-- 'Methinks your satin cloak Masks something bulky under; I take this as no joke-- Oh, thief with stolen plunder!' 'I am of high repute, And famed among the truthful: This silver-handled lute Is meet for one still youthful Who goes to keep a tryst With her who is his dearest. I charge you to desist; My cause is of the clearest.' But guardsmen are so sharp, Their eyes are as the lynx's: 'That's neither lute nor harp-- Your mark is not the minxes. Your loving we dispute-- That string of steel so cruel For music does not suit-- You go to fight a duel!'