XXXII ‘But in did come the Kyng of Spayne, With manye a bold barone, Tone daye to marrye Kyng Adland’s daughter, Tother daye to carry her home. XXXIII ‘My ladye fayre she greetes you well, And ever-more well by mee; You must either turne againe and fighte, Or goe home and loose your ladye.’-- XXXIV Saies, ‘Reade me, reade me, deere brother, My reade shall ryse[298] at thee; Whether it is better to turne and fighte, Or goe home and loose my ladye.’ XXXV ‘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. XXXVI ‘My mother was a westerne woman, And learned in gramarye, And when I learnèd at the schole, Something shee taught itt mee. XXXVII ‘There growes an hearbe within this field, And iff it were but knowne, His color, which is whyte and redd, It will make blacke and browne. XXXVIII ‘His color, which is browne and blacke, Itt will make redd and whyte; That sworde is not in all Englande Upon his coate will byte. XXXIX ‘And you shal be a harper, brother, Out of the north countrye, And Ile be your boy, soe faine of fighte, And beare your harpe by your knee. XL ‘And you shal be the best harper That ever tooke harpe in hand, And I wil be the best singer That ever sung in this lande. XLI ‘Itt shal be written in our forheads, All and in grammarye, That we towe are the boldest men That are in all Christentye.’ XLII And thus they renisht them to ryde, Of tow good renisht steedes, And when they came to Kyng Adland’s halle, Of redd gold shone their weedes. XLIII And whan they came to Kyng Adland’s halle Untill the fayre hall yate[299], There they found a proud portèr, Rearing himselfe thereatt. XLIV Sayes, ‘Christ thee save, thou proud porter,’ Sayes, ‘Christ thee save and see!’-- ‘Nowe you be welcome,’ sayd the porter, ‘Of what land soever ye bee.’ XLV ‘Wee beenè harpers,’ sayd Adler Younge, ‘Come out of the northe countrye; Wee beenè come hither untill this place This proud weddinge for to see.’-- XLVI Sayd, ‘And your color were white and redd, As it is blacke and browne, I wold saye Kyng Estmere and his brother Were comen untill this towne.’ XLVII Then they pulled out a ryng of gold, Layd itt on the porter’s arme: ‘And ever we will thee, proud portèr, Thow wilt saye us no harme.’ XLVIII 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. XLIX