When Henri Quatre ruled in France there was a gay young knight,
The loudest in the banquet-hall, the foremost in the fight.
No dame, howe’er fatigued, to tread a measure could refuse
When she heard the silver accents of Count Louis of Toulouse.
But not only to a dance would these gentle tones invite,
But to “measures” of more dangerous kind, confounding wrong with right.
Won over by his sophistry, what conscience could accuse?
But the dread of every husband was Count Louis of Toulouse.
The man above all others who the direst hate did feel
Was the husband of fair Eleanor, the Marquis de St. Lille;
And he vowed the deepest vengeance when he heard the dreadful news
That his wife had found a lover in Count Louis of Toulouse.
He called his spies around him, caused her movements to be tracked,
And, listening, heard sufficient to convince him of the fact.
Then he quietly retired, and determined to infuse
Some poison in the claret of Count Louis of Toulouse.
Next evening, as the Marchioness was waiting in her bower,
The clocks of all the churches round pealed forth the usual hour.
She began to grow impatient, murmur, and at length abuse
The extreme unpunctuality of Louis of Toulouse.
But when two servants entered, who between them bore a box,
She was half afraid that something else had struck besides the clocks;
And when the men retired, she still thinking it a ruse,
Raised up the lid and found the corpse of Louis of Toulouse.
Without a word, without a shriek, she fell upon the ground,
The maidens hast’ning to her aid, a lifeless body found.
So, young gentlemen, take warning, and ne’er yourselves amuse
By attempting fascinations like Count Louis of Toulouse.
E. H. Y.