To-nighte thou shall ly within my armes,
To-morrowe thou shall ere my lande.’
9.
Then bespacke the eldest sonne,
That was both whitt and redde:
‘O mother dere, geve over your howsse,
Or elles we shalbe deade.’
10.
‘I will not geve over my hous,’ she saithe,
‘Not for feare of my lyffe;