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He looked as fresh and gallant a figure as ever in his life; his beard trimmed sharply, his strong hair brushed back, his doublet green, his trunks of fine leather, his shoes of yet finer. The song he was upon was Li Chastel d' Amors, which runs Las portas son de parlar Al eissir e al entrar: Qui gen non sab razonar, Defors li ven a estar. E las claus son de prejar: Ab cel obron li cortes
and so on through many verses, made continuous by the fact that the end of each sixth line forms the rhyme of the next five. Now, Gilles knew nothing of Southern minstrelsy, and if he had, the pitch he was screwed to would have shrilled such knowledge out of him. At 'Defors li ven a estar, he came in, and sturdily forward. Richard saw him and put up his hand: on went the hammered rhymes
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