It was a lording's daughter, the fairest one of three, That liked of her master as well as well might be. Till looking on an Englishman, the fair'st that eye could see, Her fancy fell a-turning. Long was the combat doubtful, that love with love did fight, To leave the master loveless, or kill the gallant knight; To put in practice either, alas, it was a spite Unto the silly damsel! But one must be refused, more mickle was the pain, That nothing could be used, to turn them both to gain, For of the two the trusty knight was wounded with disdain: Alas, she could not help it! Thus art, with arms contending, was victor of the day, Which by a gift of learnlng did bear the maid away; Then, lullaby,…
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