Proud Lyborg fell sick, and lay stretched on her bed,
Then backwards and forwards Dame Ingeborg sped.
“Now hear me, Dame Ingeborg, dear mother mine,
Do bring me, I pray, either water or wine.”
“The water is frozen, and frozen the wine,
And frozen the tap in each barrel of mine.
“The door it is locked, and the keys are away,
But where, daughter dear, by the Saints I can’t say.”
“If I can nor water nor wine from thee win,
Then open the door that the dew may rush in.
“Cause the door to the North to be wide open set,
Then my feverish frame cool refreshment shall get.”
“The door to the South I’ll have straightway undone,
That the hot sun may flash in thy visage upon.”
“O would there were one that for sweet pity’s sake,
To my mother a message in secret would take.”
Then answer’d proud Lyborg’s own little foot-boy:
“Your message in secret I’ll carry with joy.”
That they were alone they with confidence thought;
Dame Ingeborg stood nigh, and every word caught.