"I'd rather I were dead and gone,
And my body laid in grave,
Ere a rusty stock o' coal-black smith,
My maidenhead should have."
But he has hadden up his hand,
And he sware by the mass,
"I'll cause ye be my light leman,
For the half o' that and less."
O bide, lady, bide,
And aye he bade her bide,