But when she came to the brode water,
She sett her brest and swamme;
And when she was got out againe,
She tooke to her heels and ranne.
He never was the courteous knighte,
To saye, faire maide, will ye ride?
"And she was ever too loving a maide
To saye, sir knighte abide."
When she came to the kings faire courte,
She knocked at the ring;
So readye was the king himself
To let this faire maide in.
Now Christ you save, my gracious liege,
Now Christ you save and see,
You have a knighte within your courte,
This daye hath robbed mee.
What hath he robbed thee of, sweet heart?
Of purple or of pall?
Or hath he took thy gaye gold ring
From off thy finger small?
He hath not robbed mee, my liege,
Of purple nor of pall:
But he hath gotten my maiden head,
Which grieves mee worst of all.
Now if he be a batchelor,
His bodye He give to thee;
But if he be a married man,
High hanged he shall bee.
He called downe his merrye men all,
By one, by two, by three;
Sir William used to bee the first,
But nowe the last came hee.
He brought her downe full fortye pounde,
Tyed up withinne a glove:
Faire maide, He give the same to thee;
Go, seeke thee another love.
O Ile have none of your gold, she sayde,
Nor Ile have none of your fee;
But your faire bodye I must have,
The king hath granted mee.