XVIII
‘O then it was your little foot-page
Falsely hath beguiled me’:
And then she pull’d forth a little pen-knife
That hangèd by her knee,
Says, ‘There shall never no churlè’s blood
Spring within my bodye.’
XIX
But home then went Glasgerion,
A woe man, Lord, was he;
Sayes, ‘Come hither, thou Jack, my boy,
Come thou hither to me.
XX
‘For if I had kill’d a man to-night,
Jack, I would tell it thee,
But if I have not kill’d a man to-night,
Jack, thou hast killéd three!’
XXI
And he pull’d out his bright brown sword,
And dried it on his sleeve,
And he smote off that lither lad’s head
And ask’d no man no leave.
XXII
He set the sword’s point till his breast,
The pommel till a stone;
Through the falseness of that lither lad
These three lives wern all gone.