“Marsk Stig has given gold rings to me,
And pearls around my neck to string;
By the Saints above I never will prove
Untrue to the Marshal’s couch, Sir King.
“And when Sir Marsk Stig left the land
Thou unto him, Sir King, didst swear
Thou wouldst tend me and defend me
E’en as if I your sister were.”
It was the fair Dame Ingeborg,
So great, so great was her vexation;
Early and late, sunshine and wet,
The King he sought her habitation.
It was Erik the Danish King,
A damnable deed the King he wrought;
He forc’d with might that Lady bright,
Whilst her good Lord his battles fought.
It was the young Sir Marshal Stig
Came home again from the battle field.
To him then sped such tidings dread,
His very blood those tidings chill’d.
And when he came to his country home,
Away to his castle Sir Stig he rode;
Then Ingeborg Dame for very shame
No word of welcome on him bestow’d.
It was the young and bold Marsk Stig,
So swiftly in at the door he hies;
His beauteous dame for very shame
To welcome the Marshal could not rise.
And long stood he, the young Marsk Stig,
And thus within himself thought he;
“Now wherefore shows my beauteous spouse
No more respect or love for me?”
Then answer’d fair Dame Ingeborg,
Whilst tears adown her features pour’d:
“Welcome, I say, from the battle fray,
Marsk Stig my bosom’s dearest lord.
“Now do thou hear, young Marshal Stig,
Of a dreadful wrong I must complain,
The King accurst has my body forc’d
And my matron honour from me has ta’en.