She kickt the table with her foot,
She kickt it with her knee,
The silver plate into the fire,
So far she made it flee.
XXIII
Then she call’d her waiting-maid
To bring her riding-hood,
So did she on her stable-groom
To bring her riding-steed.
XXIV
‘Go saddle to me the black, the black,
Go saddle to me the brown,
Go saddle to me the swiftest steed
That e’er rid to Wallington!’
XXV
When they came to Wallington,
And into Wallington hall,
There she spy’d her son Fenwick,
Walking about the wall.
XXVI
‘God save you, my dearest son,
Lord may your keeper be!
Tell me where is my daughter fair,
That used to walk with thee?’