For whom king Arthur and his knights
Full forty daies did mourne;
And, in remembrance of his name
That was so strangely borne,
He built a tomb of marble gray,
And yeare by yeare did come
To celebrate the mournefull day,
And buriall of Tom Thum.
Whose fame still lives in England here,
Amongst the countrey sort;
Of whom our wives and children small
Tell tales of pleasant sport.
* * * * *
KEMPION.
Her mither died when she was young,
Which gave her cause to make great moan;
Her father married the warse woman
That ever lived in Christendom.
She served her well wi' foot and hand,
In everything that, she could dee;
But her stepmither hated her warse and warse,
And a powerful wicked witch was she.
"Come hither, come hither, ye cannot choose;
And lay your head low on my knee;
The heaviest weird I will you read
That ever was read to gay ladye.
"Mickle dolour sail ye dree
When o'er the saut seas maun ye swim;
And far mair dolour sail ye dree
When up to Estmere Crags ye climb.
"I weird ye be a fiery snake;
And borrowed sall ye never be,
Till Kempion, the kingis son,
Come to the crag and thrice kiss thee.
Until the warld comes to an end,
Borrowed sall ye never be!"