Would you then offend me, sir? I'll stand on minstrel's right: May your bright blade blind you, That you see not where it falls, May your heartthrob fill your ears That you hear not succor's call. May every briar bind you, And fling you to your knees, May a loose-willed wench deny you, When you would seek her ease. Then would you draw sword on me? Why, sir, so let this be! Now let the moon-mad guide you Down illusion's wandering ways, Now let you outlive your children, In an eternity of days: Let cowardice o'ertake you When you would be most brave; An let your rotted body lie In an unremembered grave A.C. Crispin, Andre Norton   "Songsmith"

Useful links:   Other works of Andre Norton