4
'O hold your hand, sweet William,' she said,
'Your bull baits are wondrous sair;
Sweet-hearts I may get many a one,
But a father I will never get mair.'
5
She has taken a napkin from off her neck,
That was of the cambrick so fine,
And aye as she wiped her father's bloody wounds,
The blood ran red as the wine.
* * * * *
6
He set her upon the milk-white steed,
Himself upon the brown;
He took a horn out of his pocket,
And they both went weeping along.
F.
Percy MS., p. 57; ed. Hales and Furnivall, I, 133.
1
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
Sayes 'Christ thee saue, good Child of Ell!
Christ saue thee and thy steede!
2
'My father sayes he will [eat] noe meate,
Nor his drinke shall doe him noe good,
Till he haue slaine the Child of Ell,
And haue seene his harts blood.'
3
'I wold I were in my sadle sett,
And a mile out of the towne;
I did not care for your father
And all his merry men!
4
'I wold I were in my sadle sett,
And a little space him froe;
I did not care for your father
And all that long him to!'