The cry of my dogs was the only choir
In which my spirit did take delight.
Little I recked of matin bell,
But drowned its toll with my clanging horn:
And the only beads I loved to tell
Were the beads of dew on the spangled thorn.


The baron was going to storm, but the friar paused, and Matilda
sang in repetition,--

Little I reck of matin bell,
But drown its toll with my clanging horn:
And the only beads I love to tell
Are the beads of dew on the spangled thorn.


And then she and the friar sang the four lines together,
and rang the changes upon them alternately.

Little I reck of matin bell,

sang the friar.

"A precious friar," said the baron.


But drown its toll with my clanging horn, sang Matilda.

"More shame for you," said the baron.