Or haply in any wise she were frighted,
She should at my sister’s seek her rest;
There ever I lodge when I am benighted.
Nor will my troubled heart be righted
Ere I know how she doth speed.
If mischief on her hath alighted,
I die without all hope or rede,
For the lass is all I have at need,
And ever from childhood hath been my care;
If foul befall her ’twere woe indeed.