Thus the renisht them to ryde Of twoe good renisht steeds, And when the came to kyng Adlands halle, Of redd gold shone their weeds. And when the came to kyng Adlands hall Before the goodlye gate, There they found good kyng Adlànd Rearing himselfe theratt. Now Christ thee save, good kyng Adland; Now Christ you save and see. Sayd, You be welcome, kyng Estmere, Right hartilye to mee. You have a daughter, said Adler younge, Men call her bright and sheene, My brother wold marrye her to his wiffe, Of Englande to be queene. Yesterday was att my deere daughter Syr Bremor the kyng of Spayne; And then she nicked him of naye, And I doubt sheele do you the same. The kyng of Spayne is a foule paynim, And 'leeveth on Mahound; And pitye it were that fayre ladye Shold marrye a heathen hound. But grant to me, sayes kyng Estmere, For my love I you praye; That I may see your daughter deere Before I goe hence awaye. Although itt is seven yeers and more Since my daughter was in halle, She shall come once downe for your sake To glad my guestes alle. Downe then came that mayden fayre, With ladyes laced in pall, And halfe a hundred of bold knightes, To bring her from bowre to hall; And as many gentle squiers, To tend upon them all. The talents of golde were on her head sette, Hanged low downe to her knee; And everye ring on her small fingèr Shone of the chrystall free. Saies, God you save, my deere madam; Saies, God you save and see. Said, You be welcome, kyng Estmere, Right welcome unto mee. And if you love me, as you saye, Soe well and hartilye, All that ever you are comin about Sooner sped now itt shal bee. Then bespake her father deare: My daughter, I saye naye; Remember well the kyng of Spayne, What he sayd yesterday. He wold pull downe my hales and castles, And reeve me of my life. 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 king of Spaine Wee neede not stande in doubt. Plight me your troth, nowe, kyng Estmère, 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 the 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 many one. But in did come the kyng of Spayne, With manye a bold barone, Tone day to marrye kyng Adlands daughter, Tother daye to carrye her home.