And when they came to the verdant moor,
Her chariot broke into pieces four.
“What mighty crime can I have done,
That my own coach ’neath me will not run?”
Sir Peter at no great distance hied,
He was so near he all espied.
“We forthwith will find a remedy,
Thou shalt ride and walk will I.”
“Each noble Dame will know how fit,
I am in this plight in the saddle to sit.”
Proud Mettelil came to her father’s abode,
Her father abroad to receive her strode.
“Welcome, Mettelil, daughter mine,
How speedest thou with that burden of thine?”
“So speeding am I, such plight I am in,
That upon this earth no rest can I win.”
Little Kirsten a may was of goodness rife,
Dearly she loved her brother’s wife.
She to her brother was true of heart,
Of wax two babes she formed with art.