XV
He callèd down his head-cookes-man
In kitchen supper to dress;
‘All and anon, my deere master!
Anon at your request!’—
XVI
[‘Let supper be drest, and of the best
Let it preparèd be]
And call you downe my faire lady,
This night to supp with mee.’
XVII
And downe then came that fair lady,
’Was clad all in purple and palle[368];
The rings that were upon her fingers
Cast light thorrow the hall.
XVIII
‘What is your will, my owne wed lord,
What is your will with mee?’—
‘’Tis I am sicke, fayre lady,
Sore sicke and like to dye.’—
XIX
‘But an you be sicke, my owne wed lord,
Soe sore it grieveth mee;
But my five maidens and my selfe
[Will bedd you presentlye].