‘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.’-- XV ‘Although itt is seven yeers and more Since my daughter was in halle, She shall come once downe for your sake, To glad my guestès alle.’ XVI Downe then came that mayden fayre, With ladyes laced in pall[295], And halfe a hundred of bold knightes, To bring her from bowre to hall, And as many gentle squiers, To tend upon them all. XVII The talents of golde were on her head sette Hanged low downe to her knee, And everye ring on her small finger Shone of the chrystall free. XVIII Saies, ‘God you save, my deere madam,’ Saies, ‘God you save and see!’-- Said, ‘You be welcome, Kyng Estmere, Right welcome unto mee. XIX ‘And, if you love me, as you saye, Soe well and hartilee, All that ever you are comen about Soone sped now itt shal bee.’ XX Then bespake her father deare: ‘My daughter, I saye naye; Remember well the Kyng of Spayne, What he sayd yesterdaye. XXI ‘He wold pull downe my halles and castles, And reave me of my lyfe; I cannot blame him if he doe, If I reave him of his wyfe.’-- XXII ‘Your castles and your towres, father, Are stronglye built aboute, And therefore of the Kyng his sonne of Spaine Wee neede not stande in doubt. XXIII ‘Plight me your troth, nowe, Kyng Estmere, By heaven and your righte hand, That you will marrye me to your wyfe, And make me queene of your land.’ XXIV 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. XXV And he tooke leave of that ladye fayre, To goe to his owne countree, To fetche him dukes and lordes and knightes, That marryed they might bee. XXVI They had not ridden scant a myle, A myle forthe of the towne, But in did come the Kyng of Spayne, With kempès[296] many one. XXVII But in did come the Kyng of Spayne, With manye a bold barone, Tone day to marrye Kyng Adland’s daughter, Tother daye to carrye her home. XXVIII Shee sent one after Kyng Estmere, In all the spede might bee, That he must either turne againe and fighte, Or goe home and loose his ladye. XXIX One whyle then the page he went, Another while he ranne; Till he had oretaken Kyng Estmere, I-wis he never blanne[297]. XXX ‘Tydings, tydings, Kyng Estmere!’-- ‘What tydings nowe, my boye?’-- ‘O tydinges I can tell to you, That will you sore annoye. XXXI ‘You had not ridden scant a mile, A mile out of the towne, But in did come the Kyng of Spayne, With kempès many a one: