‘He wold pull downe my halles and castles, And reave me of my lyfe; I cannot blame him if he doe, If I reave him of his wyfe.’--
‘Your castles and your towres, father, Are stronglye built aboute, And therefore of the Kyng his sonne of Spaine Wee neede not stande in doubt.
‘Plight me your troth, nowe, Kyng Estmere, By heaven and your righte hand, That you will marrye me to your wyfe, And make me queene of your land.’
Then Kyng Estmere he plight his troth, By heaven and his righte hand, That he wolde marrye her to his wyfe, And make her queene of his land.
And he tooke leave of that ladye fayre, To goe to his owne countree, To fetche him dukes and lordes and knightes, That marryed they might bee.
They had not ridden scant a myle, A myle forthe of the towne, But in did come the Kyng of Spayne, With kempès[296] many one.
But in did come the Kyng of Spayne, With manye a bold barone, Tone day to marrye Kyng Adland’s daughter, Tother daye to carrye her home.
Shee sent one after Kyng Estmere, In all the spede might bee, That he must either turne againe and fighte, Or goe home and loose his ladye.
One whyle then the page he went, Another while he ranne; Till he had oretaken Kyng Estmere, I-wis he never blanne[297].
‘Tydings, tydings, Kyng Estmere!’-- ‘What tydings nowe, my boye?’-- ‘O tydinges I can tell to you, That will you sore annoye.
‘You had not ridden scant a mile, A mile out of the towne, But in did come the Kyng of Spayne, With kempès many a one:
‘But in did come the Kyng of Spayne, With manye a bold barone, Tone daye to marrye Kyng Adland’s daughter, Tother daye to carry her home.
‘My ladye fayre she greetes you well, And ever-more well by mee; You must either turne againe and fighte, Or goe home and loose your ladye.’--
Saies, ‘Reade me, reade me, deere brother, My reade shall ryse[298] at thee; Whether it is better to turne and fighte, Or goe home and loose my ladye.’
‘Now hearken to me,’ sayes Adler Yonge, ‘And your reade must rise at me; I quicklye will devise a waye To sette thy ladye free.
‘My mother was a westerne woman, And learned in gramarye, And when I learnèd at the schole, Something shee taught itt mee.
‘There growes an hearbe within this field, And iff it were but knowne, His color, which is whyte and redd, It will make blacke and browne.