V
She’s gane to her father’s stable
Where all the steeds did stand,
And she’s taken the best, and she’s left the warst
That was in her father’s land.
VI
She’s mounted on a milk-white steed,
And he on a dapple-grey,
And on they rade to a lonesome part,
A rock beside the sea.
VII
‘Loup[108] off the steed,’ says false Sir John,
‘Your bridal bed you see;
Seven ladies I have drownèd here,
And the eight’ one you shall be.
VIII
‘Cast off, cast off your silks so fine
And lay them on a stone,
For they are too fine and costly
To rot in the salt sea foam.
IX
‘Cast off, cast off your silken stays,
For and your broider’d shoon,
For they are too fine and costly
To rot in the salt sea foam.