“She’ll kiss thee full oft on thy lips rosy red,
But do thou lie still as were life from thee fled.”
Child Stig he gave ear to his foster dame’s rede,
And away to his bed he betook him with speed.
’Twas late in the even, and down fell the dew,
Rigissa flung o’er her her mantle of blue.
The lovely maid she her blue mantle put on,
And unto the chamber of Stig she is gone.
On the door of the chamber begins she to knock:
“Arise, O Child Stig, and thy chamber unlock.”
“At the Ting to appear, I have summoned no wight,
And none I’ll admit to my chamber at night.”
She’s fingers, ten fingers, so tiny and small,
And out of the door she has picked the nails all.
Fifteen iron nails, and a big stud of brass,
Then into the chamber Rigissa could pass.
She sat herself down by the side of the bed,
And played with the locks of the young gallant’s head.
She kissed him full oft on his mouth rosy red,
But still he remained as were life from him fled.