When My Lady Wakens
When my Lady wakens, well after the sun,
She sips a hot and steaming drink, to help her wits to run.
And then my Lady dons her clothes, both elegant and fair.
She combs her locks and sweeps them back, and plaits her auburn hair.
She keeps it back from out her face with comb or hat or coif,
She dons a long and flowing skirt, a shirt of linen soft.
A doublet, next, of rich brocade, and pearls like scattered dew.
A pair of socks, with garters taut: She's business soon to do.
A pair of boots she next pulls on; they slide up past her knee --
For swaggering and sauntering, and kicking-assery.
She adds a cloak, and then a belt, with frogging well-endowed,
And hangs a cup, and pouch with dice, in case there is a crowd.
A sturdy pair of leather gloves, a gorget, and a mask,
And then, to fetch her toy most fair, well-suited to her task.
A gleaming blade slides from its sheath, a dagger quick to follow.
A wicked smile plays at her lips; her enemies feel hollow.
And thus attired, she sallies forth, to cross blades with her prey.
She'll meet success, her business -- Death. And Business good today.
My lady strides onto the field, her sword-blade gleaming bright.
Her hair and dress impeccable, because she does it right.
Her foes will stare, and soon cry "Dead!" before her whirling blade.
And at day's done, she spends her nights carousing at the Spade.