( 8 )
He ſaid, she's your mother, who think's are dead;
I am one that won't hurt the hair of her head.
But unto the cloſet he goes ſuriouſly,
Saying Wicked woman, prepare for to die,
To ſee him with glittering ſword in his hand,
With ſighs and groans ſhe before him did ſtand,
And ſaid, Kill me the ſirſt ſtroke be true,
That I may not be tormented long in my gore.
To hear theſe expreſſions a groan he did bring,
And no longer could bear love's piercing ſting.
He ſaid, be not troubled, thou joy of my life,
The bridgeroom's your ſon whom you ſtabb'd with a
That this mournful Lady might be ſatisfy'd , Knife.
They ſhew'd her the place ſhe ſtabb'd in his ſide.
For joy to the bridegroom ſhe gave kiſſes ſtore,
And ſaid, Now I hope all my ſorrows are o'er.
The' Squire ſaid to her, Now ſince it is ſo
That our ſon is alive, will you have me or no
To-morrow let's marry to finiſh the ſtrive.
To this ſhe conſented ; he made her his wife.
She ſaid to the 'Squire, I'll tell you, my dear,
My father's a Knight of ten thouſand a year:
But whether he's living I cannot well tell,
For to ride and ſee I hold it right well.
To her father's houſe they both rid with ſpeed ;
When her parents ſaw her, they both ſmiled indeed.
With joy they embrac'd her, while tears run down,
And gave her a portion of twelve thouſand pounds.
This worthy Squire it is very well known
Enjoys five thouſand a year of his own.
He gave an eſtate to his ſon, and behold
Three thouſand pieces of bright ſhining gold.
So now I will leave them in joy all to live,
Great comfort and joy in this world to receive.
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