“Oh, now forbid,” fair Ellenor said,
“That any such thing should be done:
For I thought to have been the bride myself,
And that you would have been the bridegroom.
“Come, read me a riddle, dear mother,” said she,
“And riddle us both as one:
Whether I shall go to Lord Thomas’s wedding,
Or whether I shall tarry at home?”
“There’s one may be thy friend, I know;
But twenty will be thy foe:
Therefore I charge thee, on my blessing,
To Lord Thomas’s wedding don’t go.”
“There’s one will be my friend, I know,
Though twenty should be my foe:
Betide me life, or betide me death,
To Lord Thomas’s wedding I go.”
Then she went up into her chamber
And dressed herself all in green:
And when she came downstairs again,
They thought it must be some queen.
When she came to Lord Thomas’s castle
So nobly she did ring:
There was none so ready as Sir Thomas himself
To loose this lady in.
Then he took her by her lily-white hand
And led her across the hall;
And he placed her on the daïs,
Above the ladies all.
“Is this your bride, Lord Thomas?
I think she looks wondrous brown:
You might have had as fair a young maiden
As ever trod English ground.”
“Despise her not,” said Lord Thomas;
“Despise her not unto me;
I love thy little finger, Ellen,
Better than her whole body.”
The brown girl, having a knife in her hand,
Which was both keen and sharp,
Between the long ribs and the short,
She pierced fair Ellenor’s heart.