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was a kings owne sonne, And a harper he was good; He harped in the kings chamber, Where cuppe and candle stoode, And soe did hee in the queens chamber, Till ladies waxed wood. And then bespake the kings daughter, And these words thus sayd shee: . . . . . . . . . Saide, Strike on, strike on, Glasgerrion, Of thy striking doe not blinne; There's neuer a stroke comes ouer thin harpe But it glads my hart within. 'Faire might you fall, lady!' quoth hee; 'Who taught you now to speake? I haue loued you, lady, seuen yeere; My hart I durst neere breake.' 'But come to my bower, my Glasgerryon, When all men are att rest; As I am a ladie true of my promise, Thou shalt bee a welcome guest.' But hom then came Glasgerryon, A glad man, Lord, was hee: 'And come thou hither, Iacke, my boy, Come hither vnto mee. 'For the kings daughter of Normandye, Her loue is granted mee, And beffore the cocke haue crowen, Att her chamber must I bee.' 'But come you hither master,' quoth hee, 'Lay your head downe on this stone; For I will waken you, master deere, Afore it be time to gone.' But vpp then rose that lither ladd, And did on hose and shoone; A coller he cast vpon his necke, Hee seemed a gentleman. And when he came to that ladies chamber, He thrild vpon a pinn; The lady was true of her promise, Rose vp and lett him in. He did not take the lady gay To boulster nor to bedd, But down vpon her chamber-flore Full soone he hath her layd. He did not kisse that lady gay When he came nor when he youd; And sore mistrusted that lady gay He was of some churl s blood. But home then came that lither ladd, And did of his hose and shoone, And cast that coller from about his necke; He was but a churl s sonne: 'Awaken,' quoth hee, 'My master deere, I hold it time to be gone. 'For I haue sadled your horsse, master, Well bridled I haue your steed; Haue not I serued a good breakfast, When time comes I haue need.' But vp then rose good Glasgerryon, And did on both hose and shoone, And cast a coller about his necke; He was a kingees sonne. And when he came to that ladies chamber, He thrild vpon a pinn; The lady was more then true of promise, Rose vp and let him in. Saies, Whether haue you left with me Your braclett or your gloue? Or are you returned backe againe To know more of my loue?' Glasgerryon swore a full great othe, By oake and ashe and thorne, 'Lady, I was neuer in your chamber Sith the time that I was borne.' 'O then it was your litle foote-page Falsly hath beguiled me:' And then shee pulld forth a litle pen-kniffe, Thathanged by her knee, Says, There shall neuer noe churl s blood Spring within my body. But home then went Glasgerryon, A woe man, good [Lord], was hee; Sayes, Come hither, thou Iacke, my boy, Come thou hither to me. Ffor if I had killed a man to-night, Iacke, I wold tell it thee; But if I haue not killed a man to-night, Iacke, thou hast killed three! And he puld out his bright browne sword, And dryed it on his sleeue, And he smote off that lither ladds head, And asked noe man noe leaue. He sett the swords poynt till his brest, The pumill till a stone; Thorrow that falsenese of that lither ladd These three liues werne all gone. = = was ance a harper gude, He harped to the king; And Glenkindie was ance the best harper That ever harpd on a string. He'd harpit a fish out o saut water, Or water out o a stane, Or milk out o a maiden's breast, That bairn had never nane. He's taen his harp intil his hand, He harpit and he sang, And ay as he harpit to the king, To haud him unthought lang. 'I'll gie you a robe, Glenkindie, A robe o the royal pa, Gin ye will harp i the winter's night Afore my nobles a'.' * * * * He's taen his harp intill his hand, He's harpit them a' asleep, Except it was the young countess, That love did waukin keep. And first he has harpit a grave tune, And syne he has harpit a gay, And mony a sich atween hands I wat the lady gae. Says, Whan day is dawen, and cocks hae crawen, And wappit their wings sae wide, It's ye may come to my bower-door, And streek you by my side. But look that ye tell na Gib, your man, For naething that ye dee; For, an ye tell him Gib, your man, He'll beguile baith you and me. He's taen his harp intill his hand, He harpit and he sang, And he is hame to Gib, his man, As fast as he could gang. 'O mith I tell you, Gib, my man, Gin I a man had slain?' 'O that ye micht, my gude master, Altho ye had slain ten.' 'Then tak ye tent now, Gib, my man, My bidden for to dee; And but an ye wauken me in time, Ye sall be hangit hie.