“My daughter now take, and in linen enfold,
The face of her mother no more she’ll behold.
“Assist ye my daughter to Christentie’s breast,
I fear that her luck will not be of the best.
“Let the name that ye give her be proud Ingerlill,
My fortune intends for me nothing but ill.”
Little Kirsten her faithful maid servant address’d:
“Now fetch to me hither, I pray, my gilt chest.”
The chest she unlocked where lay stored all her gear,
And distributed that midst her servants so dear.
And most to her maid she thought fit to award,
For she was to be her child’s teacher and guard.
The gold, the red gold, she has given her so free,
That tender and kind to her child she might be.
“Every lady can well imagine how fit
At present I am on my courser to sit.
“And each man, I am sure, can imagine how ill
A journey nocturnal agree with me will.”
On the saddle they placed her, with hearts full of care,
Glittered like the spun gold her beautiful hair.