Then forth she rode on a faire palfraye,
Oer hill and dale about;110
But never a champion colde she finde,
Wolde fighte with that knight so stout.
And nowe the daye drewe on apace,
When our good queene must dye;
All woe-begone was that fair damselle,115
When she found no helpe was nye.
All woe-begone was that faire damselle,
And the salt teares fell from her eye;
When lo! as she rode by a rivers side,
She met with a tinye boye.120
A tinye boy she mette, God wot,
All clad in mantle of golde;
He seemed noe more in mans likenesse,
Then a childe of four yeere olde.
"Why grieve you, damselle faire?" he sayd,125
"And what doth cause you moane?"
The damsell scant wolde deigne a looke,
But fast she pricked on.
"Yet turne againe, thou faire damselle,
And greete thy queene from mee;130
When bale is at hyest, boote is nyest;
Nowe helpe enoughe may bee.
"Bid her remember what she dreamt,
In her bedd wheras shee laye;
How when the grype and the grimly beast135
Wolde have carried her crowne awaye,
"Even then there came the little gray hawke,
And saved her from his clawes:
Then bidd the queene be merry at hart,
For heaven will fende her cause."140
Back then rode that fair damselle,
And her hart it lept for glee:
And when she told her gracious dame,
A gladd woman then was shee.