In a few hours, I will her bring
Down to a low degree.
I will her liken to a Laidley worm,
That warps about the stone,
And not, till Childly Wynd comes back,
Shall she again be won.
The princess stood at the bower door
Laughing, who could her blame?
But e’er the next day’s sun went down,
A long worm she became.