Now it fell out, upon a day
She was dressing of her head,
That in did come her father dear,
Wearing the gold so red.
V
‘Get up now, Lady Maisry,
Put on your wedding-gown;
For Lord Ingram he will be here,
Your wedding must be done.’—
VI
‘I’d rather be Childe Vyet’s wife,
The white fish for to sell,
Before I were Lord Ingram’s wife,
To wear the silk so well.
VII
‘I’d rather be Childe Vyet’s wife,
With him to beg my bread,
Before I were Lord Ingram’s wife,
To wear the gold so red....
VIII
‘O where will I get a bonny boy,
Will win gold to his fee,
And will run unto Childe Vyet
With this letter from me?’—