170
LITTLE BROWN HAND
To none does the house of Yolande yield:Sixteen quarterings deck the shield—A mailed hand on an azure fieldA steel-blue dagger doth ever wield.Lost Brown Hand had neither wealth nor kin:A reckless wildweed that trailed apartI grasped. But I did not mean to hold—Yolande brings portion of much fine gold . . .Oh, Little Brown Hand, you madden me, take your fingers out of my heart!
