When she the same had taken, That was so fine and thin, It shrivell'd all about her, And show'd her dainty skin. Ah! little did HER mincing, Or HIS long prayers bestead; She had no more hung on her, Than a tassel and a thread. Down she threwe the mantle, With terror and dismay, And, with a face of scarlet, To her chamber hyed away. Sir Cradock call'd his lady, And bade her to come neare: "Come, win this mantle, lady, And do me credit here. "Come, win this mantle, lady, For now it shall be thine, If thou hast never done amiss, Sith first I made thee mine." The lady, gently blushing, With modest grace came on, And now to trye the wondrous charm Courageously is gone. When she had tane the mantle, And put it on her backe, About the hem it seemed To wrinkle and to cracke. "Lye still," shee cryed, "O mantle! And shame me not for nought, I'll freely own whate'er amiss, Or blameful I have wrought. "Once I kist Sir Cradocke Beneathe the green-wood tree: Once I kist Sir Cradocke's mouth Before he married mee." When thus she had her shriven, And her worst fault had told, The mantle soon became her Right comely as it shold. Most rich and fair of colour, Like gold it glittering shone: And much the knights in Arthur's court Admir'd her every one. Then towards King Arthur's table The boy he turn'd his eye: Where stood a boar's head garnished With bayes and rosemarye. When thrice he o'er the boar's head His little wand had drawne, Quoth he, "There's never a cuckold's knife Can carve this head of brawne." Then some their whittles rubbed On whetstone, and on hone: Some threwe them under the table, And swore that they had none. Sir Cradock had a little knife, Of steel and iron made; And in an instant thro' the skull He thrust the shining blade. He thrust the shining blade Full easily and fast; And every knight in Arthur's court A morsel had to taste. The boy brought forth a horne, All golden was the rim: Saith he, "No cuckolde ever can Set mouth unto the brim. "No cuckold can this little horne Lift fairly to his head; But or on this, or that side, He shall the liquor shed." Some shed it on their shoulder, Some shed it on their thigh; And hee that could not hit his mouth, Was sure to hit his eye. Thus he, that was a cuckold, Was known of every man: But Cradock lifted easily, And wan the golden can. Thus boar's head, horn and mantle, Were this fair couple's meed: And all such constant lovers, God send them well to speed. Then down in rage came Guenever, And thus could spightful say, "Sir Cradock's wife most wrongfully Hath borne the prize away. "See yonder shameless woman, That makes herselfe so clean: Yet from her pillow taken Thrice five gallants have been.