Sayes, ‘Yes, fayre ladye I know it well, Once of a woman I was borne; Yet for noe birth that Marye bore Thy smocke shall not be left upon.’ XVI But then she put off her headgeare fine-- She had billaments[415] worth a hundred pound-- The hayre was upon that bonny wench’ head Cover’d her bodye downe to the ground. XVII Then he pull’d forth a Scottish brand, And held it there in his owne right hand; Sayes, ‘Whether wilt dye upon my sword’s point, Or thou wilt goe naked home againe?’-- XVIII ‘Life is sweet,’ then, ‘Sir,’ said she, ‘Therefore I pray you leave me with mine; Before I wo’ld dye on your sword’s point I had rather goe naked home againe. XIX ‘My father,’ she sayes, ‘is a right good earle As any remaines in his owne countrye; Gif ever he doe your bodye take, You are sure to flower a gallow-tree. XX ‘And I have seven brethren,’ she sayes, ‘And they are all hardy men and bold; Gif ever they doe your bodye take You’ll never again gang quicke over molde.’-- XXI ‘If your father be a right good earle As any remaines in his owne countrye, Tush! he shall never my bodye take, I’ll gang soe fast and over the sea. XXII ‘If you have seven brethren,’ he sayes, ‘If they be never soe hardy and bold, Tush! they shall never my bodye take, I’ll gang soe fast over Scottish molde.’ XXIII This ladye is gone to her father’s hall, Where every body their rest did take; For but the Earle which was her father Lay wakin’ for his deere daughter’s sake. XXIV ‘But who is that,’ her father can say-- ‘Who is’t soe privily knows the pinn?’ ‘It’s Helen, your owne deere daughter, father, I pray you rise and lett me in! XXV [‘I pray you, pray you, lett me in!’--] ‘Noe, by my hood!’ quoth her father then; ‘My house thou’st never come within, Without I had my red gold againe.’ XXVI ‘Nay, nay, your gold is gone, father, [Yet I pray you rise and let me in!’] ‘Then naked thou came into this world, And naked thou shalt return againe.’ XXVII ‘Nay, God forgave His death, father, And soe I hope you will doe mee.’ ‘Away, away, thou cursèd woman! Pray God an ill death thou may dee!’ XXVIII I’ the morning, when her father got upp, A pittyful sight there he might see; His owne deere daughter was dead, without clothes,-- And this was the end of that bonny ladye. XXIX But let us leave talking of this ladye And talke some more of Yonge Andrew: For false he was to this bonny ladye-- More pitty that he had not beene true! XXX He was not gone in the forest a mile, Or half a mile into the heart of Wales, But a shee-wolfe caught him by such a wyle That hee must come to tell noe more tales.