‘Down in yonder greenè field
There lies a knight slain under his shield;
IV
‘His hounds they lie down at his feet,
So well do they their master keep;
V
‘His hawks they flie so eagerly,
There’s no fowl dare come him nigh.
VI
‘Down there comes a fallow doe
As great with young as she might goe.
VII
‘She lift up his bloudy head
And kist his wounds that were so red.