Thou comest thy revenge to seek,
But small the vengeance thou shalt wreak.
Thy friends shall no assistance yield;
Thy foes shall tread thee in the field;
For thou the woman-slayer, then,
Shall meet thy final fate from men.
Those damsels whom thou hast deceived
Shall feel no pang of grief;
Their aid was malediction,
Thy death is their relief.
The Moor was true in heart and soul,
He thought she spake in jest.
He stood up in his stirrups,
Her hand he would have pressed.
"Lady," he said, "remember well
That Moor of purpose fierce and fell
On whom my vengeance I did wreak
Hast felt the curse that now you speak.
And as for Zaida, I repent
That love of mine on her was spent.
Disdain of her and love of thee
Now rule my soul in company.
The flame in which for her I burned
To frost her cruelty has turned.
Three cursed years, to win her smile,
In knightly deeds I wrought,
And nothing but her treachery
My faithful service brought,
She flung me off without a qualm,
Because my lot was poor,
And gave, because the wretch was rich,
Her favor to a Moor.
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