With his foot he the cradle has spurned with such force
That out rolled the baby, a blood-besprent corse.
So matters passed on ’till of evening the fall,
To the evening repast the relations went all.
Sir Loumor her lord she placed at the board’s head,
To the stools at the bottom her brothers she led.
To Sir Loumor she handed the stout ruddy wine,
To her brothers she only sweet milk will assign.
Sir Loumor pretended to drink deep and fast,
But in secret the wine down beneath him he cast.
Proud Signild now to the bed chamber wends,
And the bed she prepares for her dear-beloved friends.
The bed she outspreads on the hard rugged stone,
And that to prevent them from sleeping was done.
And under their sides she placed slily their knives,
Which well they might trust in defence of their lives.
She also has placed underneath their bed heads
Their actons of steel, and their keen naked blades.
’Twas late, late at night, and the lights were burnt low,
And away to their couches it lists them to go.