‘Ah! who is the Lord of this forest so fine?’
‘It belongs to King Thrushbeard. It might have been thine,
If his Queen you had been.’
‘Ah! sad must I sing!
I would I’d accepted the hand of the King.’
After that they reached a great meadow, and she asked again:
‘Ah! who is the Lord of these meadows so fine?’
‘They belong to King Thrushbeard, and would have been thine,
If his Queen you had been.’
‘Ah! sad must I sing!
I would I’d accepted the love of the King.’
Then they passed through a large town, and again she asked:
‘Ah! who is the Lord of this city so fine?’
‘It belongs to King Thrushbeard, and it might have been thine,
If his Queen you had been.’
‘Ah! sad must I sing!
I would I’d accepted the heart of the King.’
‘It doesn’t please me at all,’ said the Musician, ‘that you are always wishing for another husband. Am I not good enough for you?’
At last they came to a miserable little hovel, and she said:
‘Ah, heavens! what’s this house, so mean and small?
This wretched little hut’s no house at all.’
The Musician answered: ‘This is my house, and yours; where we are to live together.’
The door was so low that she had to stoop to get in.