He turn’d his head him round about,
The tears did fill his e’e:
‘’Tis a month,’ he said, ‘since Fair Mary
Took her chambers from me.’
XXVIII
She went on [to her daughter’s chamber];
And there were in the hall
Four and twenty ladies,
Letting the tears down fall.
XXIX
Her daughter had a scope[512] into
Her cheek and eke her chin,
All to keep in her dear life
Till her dear mother came.
XXX
‘Come take the rings off my fingers,
The skin it is so white,
And give them to my mother dear,
For she was all the wyte[513].
XXXI
‘Come take the rings off my fingers,
The veins they are so red,
Give them to Sir William Fenwick,
I’m sure his heart will bleed.’