"He wolde pull down my halles and castles.

And reeve me of my lyfe;

And ever I feare that paynim kyng,

If I reeve him of his wyfe."

"Your castles and your towres, father,

Are stronglye built aboute;
And therefore of that foul paynim,

Wee neede not stande in doubte,

Plyghte me your troth nowe, Kyng Estmere,
By Heaven and your righte haude,
That you will marrye me to your wyfe,
And make me queen of your lande."

Then Kyng Estmere, he plight his troth,
By Heaven and his right hand,
That he would marrye her to his wyfe,
And make her queen of his lande.

And he tooke leave of that ladye fayre,

To

go to his own contree;

To fetch him dukes, and lordes, and knightes,

That marryed they might be.

They had not ridden scant a myle,
A myle forthe of the towne,
But in did come the Kyng of Spayne,

With kempés many a one.

But in did come the Kyng of Spayne,
With many a grimm baròne

Tone day to marrye Kyng Adland's daughter,

Tother day to carrye her home.

Then she sent after Kyng Estmere,
In all the spede might bee,
That he must either returne and fighte,
Or goe home and lose his ladye.

One whyle then the page he went,
Another whyle he ranne;

Till he had o'ertaken Kyng Estmere,

I wis he never blanne.

"Tydinges! tydinges! Kyng Estmere!"
"What tydinges nowe, my boye?"
"Oh, tydinges I can tell to you,

That will you sore annoye.

"You had not ridden scant a myle,

A myle out of the towne,

But in did come the Kyng of Spayne,

With kempés many a one.

"But in did come the Kyng of Spayne,

With many a bold baròne

Tone day to marrye Kyng Adland's daughter, Tother day to carry her home.

"That ladye faire she greetes you well,

And evermore well, by me:

You must either turne again and fighte,
Or goe home and lose your ladye.”

Sayes, "Reade me, reade me, deare brother,
My reade shall ryde at thee,

Which waye we best may turne and fighte,
To save this fayre 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 western woman, And learned in gramaryé,

And when I learned at the schole,

Something she taught itt me.

"There groweth an hearbe within this fielde,

And iff it were but known,

His color which is whyte and redde,
It will make blacke and browne.

"His color which is browne and blacke,
It will make redde and whyte;
That sworde is not all Englande,
Upon his coate will byte.

And you shall be a harper, brother,

Out of the north countrée ;

And I'll be your boye so faine of fighte,
To beare your harpe by your knee.

"And you shall be the best harper,
That ever took harp in hand,
And I will be the best singer,

That ever songe in the land.

"It shal be written in our forheads,

All and in gramāryé,

That we twoe are the boldest men,

That are in all Christentye."

And thus they renisht them to ryde,

On twoe good renisht steedes,

And when they came to Kyng Adland's halle, Of redd gold shone their weedes.

And when they came to Kyng Adland's halle,

Untill the fayre hall yate,

There they found a proud portér,

Rearing himselfe thereatt.

Sayes, "Christ thee save, thou proud portér,"

Sayes, "Christ thee save and see.”

"Now you be welcome," sayd the portér,

66

'Of what land soever ye be."

"We been harpers," sayd Adler yonge,
"Come out of the north countrée ;
We been come hither untill this place,
This proud wedding for to see."

Sayd, "An your color were whyte and redd,
As it is blacke and browne,

I'd say Kyng Estmere and his brother,
Were comen until this towne."

Then they pulled out a ryng of gold,

Layd it on the porter's arme, "And ever we will thee proud portér, Thou wilt say us no harme."

Sore he looked on Kyng Estmere,

And sore he handled the ryng,
Then opened to them the fayre hall yates,
He lett for no kind of thyng,

Kyng Estmere he light off his steede,
Up at the fayre hall board;

The frothe that came from his bridle bitte,
Light on Kyng Bremor's beard.

Sayes, "Stable thy steede, thou proud harpér,
Goe stable him in the stalle;

It doth not become a proud harpér,
To stable him in a kyng's halle."

My ladde he is so lither," he sayd, "He will do nought that's meete, And aye that I could but find the man, Were able him to beate."

"Thou speakest proud wordes," sayd the paynim kyng,

"Thou harper, here to me;

There is a man within this halle,

That will beate thy ladd and thee."

"O lett that man come down,” he sayd,
"A sight of him wolde I see,
And when he hath beaten well my ladd,
Then he shall beate of mee."

Downe then came the kemperye man,

And looked him in the eare,

For all the golde that was under heaven,

He durst not neigh him neare.

"And how nowe, kempe," sayd the Kyng of Spayn, "And now what aileth thee ?"