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Aarschot
A rising sun warmed the crisp morning air. On the town square, a fife player practiced a more or less satisfactory marching melody; further in the distance, the unmistakable ambience of infantrymen, each two thirds of a jug of wine deep into this fresh Monday morning.
There was a knight was drunk with wine,
A riding along the way, sir;
And there he met with a lady fine,
Among the cocks of hay, sir.
‘Shall you and I, O lady faire,
Among the grass lye down-a,
And I will have a special care
Of rumpling of your gown-a?’
Troops are raised.
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