It was the little Engel, he
Halted a while to gaze:
“O there doth lie the Kirk, where died
My sire in smoke and blaze.
“And there doth stand the castle, where
My uncle doth reside;
The amends that he shall pay this day
The Lord in heaven decide.”
By four ways they the bower beset,
And for admission call:
The little Engel, sprightly elf,
Was foremost of them all.
It was Godey Sir Loumand, through
The casement out looked he:
“Now hark, ye knaves, bid your captain tell
Why ye bawl so furiously?”
Then answered little Engel straight
Beneath his mantle ruddy:
“Engel he’s stiled, your sister’s child,
And I am he, Sir Godey.”
Then answered Godey Sir Loumand, he
Was surely wroth thereat:
“Ride hence, and boast not of thy birth,
Thou art a bastard brat.”
“And though a bastard brat I be,
My fortune’s not the worse;
Enough I hold of silver and gold,
And ride on a gallant horse.
“And if a bastard brat I be,
Thou mad’st me that I trow;
But still I’ve towers, and pleasant bowers,
And of green woods enow.
“My sire thou slew’st, and no amends
To me didst ever make;
Now scoff thou hast upon me cast,
For which thy life I’ll take.
“Bring gold, my merry men, and that
Before the threshold lay;
We’ll burn the bower this very hour,
We well for it can pay.”