“Thyself to thy bed, my sweet Signild, betake,
For the death of my kindred my heart will not break.”
Sir Loumor sought after his trusty brown brand,
And found to his fear he was bound foot and hand.
“O Signild, proud Signild, I pray thee now spare,
And aye to be kind to thee, Signild, I swear.”
“Methinks that thou didst little kindness display,
The time thou my father didst murderously slay!
“Thou slewest my father with treacherous glaive,
And then my dear brothers, so beauteous and brave.
“Then hope not for mercy, on vengeance I’m bent,
Because all I cherished from me thou hast rent.”
Then she drew forth the knife from her sleeve bloody red,
And Sir Loumor she stabbed till the life from him fled.
Then out from its cradle the little child spake:
“That deed, if I live, I will some day ywrake.”
“I know that thou art of the very same blood,
And I never expect thou to me wilt be good.”
The child by the small of the leg she has ta’en,
And against the bed side she has beat out its brain.