A Christian came, he seemed in sorrow,
Full of falsehood came he there.
Moorish he spoke,—he spoke it well,—
“Open the door, thou Moorish maid,
So shalt thou be by Allah blessed,
So shall I save my forfeit head.”
“But how can I, alone and weak,
Unbar, and know not who is there?”
“But I’m the Moor, the Moor Mazote,
The brother of thy mother dear.