Struck it across the plain:
"Is there any more o' your English dogs,
That you want to be slain?"
"A clerk, a clerk," the king then cried,
"To write her tocher free;"
"A priest, a priest," says love Johnny,
"To marry my love and me.
"I'm seeking nane o' your gold," he says,
"Nor of your silver clear;
I only seek your daughter fair,