If any of her may have heard.
Though I be stirred,
’Tis but small wonder that I grieve:
Of lief ’tis ill to take one’s leave.
After this Sir Gysbrecht departed him from his sister sad at heart because he gat no tidings of Mary his niece.
¶ How the wicked aunt thrust a dagger in her throat.
In the meanwhile the chastelain of Grave let the old duke Arent forth of the prison and led him to the town of Bolduc where he was right royally received by the lords of that same. Which hearing, the wicked aunt waxed so wrathful in her venomous heart that she well nigh burst for spite, saying:
Help me, liver, lights, and spleen,
Teeth and head, nought goes aright!