And of your weeping let it be!
For if they bereave me of my life,
They cannot bereave me of the heavens so high.’
13
Sir Hugh in the Grime lookd out at the door,
Oh, what a sorry heart had he!
There [he] spy’d his mother dear,
Weeping and wailing ‘Oh, woe is me!’
14
‘Hold your tongue now, mother dear,