Behind her back were bound.
But who should bind her winsome feet?—
That bred such strife and pain,
That sixteen brave and belted Knights
Lay gasping on the plain.
And when she came before the King,
Ane ireful carle was he;
Saith he, “Dame, you must be my love,
Or burn beneath ane tree.”
“No, I can ne’er be love to thee,