XXXIV
But when she look’d on Childe Maurice’ head
She ne’er spake words but three:
‘I never bare no child but one,
And you have slain him, trulye.’
XXXV
And she has taken the bloody head
And kiss’d it, cheek and chin:
‘I was once as full o’ Childe Maurice
As the hip is o’ the stane.
XXXVI
‘I got him in my mother’s bower
Wi’ mickle sin and shame;
I brought him up in the good greenwood
Under the shower and rain.’
XXXVII
And she has taken her Childe Maurice
And kiss’d him, mouth and chin:
‘O better I love my Childe Maurice
Than all my royal kin!’
XXXVIII
‘Woe be to thee!’ John Steward he said,
And a woe, woe man was he;
‘For if you had told me he was your son
He had never been slain by me.’