They’ve lighted off their milk-white steeds,
An saftly enterd in,
And there they saw her White Lilly,
Nursing her bonny young son.
“Now, by the rood,” the king coud say,
“This is a comely sight;
I trow, instead of a forrester’s man,
This is a lady bright!”
Then out it spake her, Rose the Red,
An fell low down on her knee:
“Oh, pardon us, my gracious liege,
An our story I’ll tell thee.
“Our father was a wealthy lord,
That wond in Barnsdale;
But we had a wicked step-mother,
That wrought us meickle bale.
“Yet she had twa as fu fair sons
As ever the sun did see,
An the tane of them lood my sister dear,
An the tother said he lood me.”
Then out it spake him Bold Arthur,
As by the king he stood:
“Now, by the faith o my body,
This shoud be Rose the Red!”
Then in it came him Brown Robin,
Frae hunting O the deer;
But whan he saw the king was there,
He started back for fear.
The king has taen him by the hand,
An bide him naithing dread;
Says, “Ye maun leave the good greenwood,
Come to the court wi speed.”
Then up he took White Lilly’s son,
An set him on his knee;
Says—“Gin ye live to wield a bran,
My bowman ye sall bee.”
The king he sent for robes of green,
An girdles o shinning gold;
He gart the ladies be arrayd
Most comely to behold.