Upon him Sir Swerkel his red mantle throws,
And to the high hall to his mother he goes.
“Hail, hail as thou sittest here, dear mother mine!
I come from betrothing the little Kirstine.”
“Our Lady forbid, and our Lady forfend,
Relations like ye to betroth should pretend.
“In wedlock united ye never must be,
For brother and sister, believe me, are ye.”
“Now tell me, I pray thee, O dear mother mine!
What time thou didst bring forth the little Kirstine.”
“The time that thou wast on thy journey to Rome,
I bore the sweet flowret that’s now in full bloom.
“Whilst thou to the sepulchre holy wast gone,
I bore the fair mirror thy love that hast won.
“In the court of the Queen she was reared up with care,
And scarlet and sable accustomed to wear.”
“Now give me thy counsel, O dear mother mine,
How I may forget her, the little Kirstine?”
“Go chase thou the hart, and go chase thou the hind,
And thou wilt her image soon chase from thy mind.