Is this your bride, fair Ellinor sayd?
Methinks she looks wonderous browne; 50
Thou mightest have had as faire a womàn,
As ever trod on the grounde.
Despise her not, fair Ellin, he sayd,
Despise her not unto mee;
For better I love thy little fingèr, 55
Than all her whole bodèe.
This browne bride had a little penknife,
That was both long and sharpe,
And betwixt the short ribs and the long,
She prickd faire Ellinor's harte. 60
O Christ thee save, lord Thomas, hee sayd,
Methinks thou lookst wonderous wan;
Thou usedst to look with as fresh a colòur,
As ever the sun shone on.
Oh, art thou blind, lord Thomas? she sayd, 65
Or canst thou not very well see?
Oh! dost thou not see my owne hearts bloode
Run trickling down my knee.
Lord Thomas he had a sword by his side;
As he walked about the halle, 70
He cut off his brides head from her shouldèrs,
And threw it against the walle.
He set the hilte against the grounde,
And the point against his harte.
There never three lovers together did meete, 75
That sooner againe did parte.
FOOTNOTES:
[240] Ver. 29. It should probably be, Read me, read, &c., i.e. Advise me, advise.