He cut her paps from off her breast,
Great pity it was to see,
That some drops of this lady's heart's blood
Ran trickling down her knee.
"Woe worth you, woe worth, my merry men all,
You were ne er born for my good;
Why did you not offer to stay my hand,
When ye saw me wax so wood!
"For I have slain the bravest sir knight
That ever rode on steed;