‘O here I am, the boy,’ says one,
‘Will win gold to my fee,
And carry away any letter
To Childe Vyet from thee.’
X
The first line that Childe Vyet read,
A grievèd man was he;
The next line that Childe Vyet read,
A tear blinded his e’e.
‘I wonder what ails my one brother,
He’ll not let my love be!
XI
‘But I’ll send to my brother’s bridal—
The gammons o’ the swine—
With four and twenty buck and roe,
And ten tun of the wine;
And bid my love be blithe and glad,
And I will follow syne.’
XII
There was no groom in that castle
But got a gown of green;
And all was blithe, and all was glad,
But Lady Maisry was neen[356].
XIII
There was no cook in that kitchen
But got a gown of grey;
And all was blithe, and all was glad,
But Lady Maisry was wae.