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Many throughe fals messengers are deceived,

       And I feare lest soe shold wee.

      Thus the renisht them to ryde

       Of twoe good renisht steeds,

       And when the came to kyng Adlands halle,

       Of redd gold shone their weeds.

      And when the came to kyng Adlands hall

       Before the goodlye gate,

       There they found good kyng Adlànd

       Rearing himselfe theratt.

      Now Christ thee save, good kyng Adland;

       Now Christ you save and see.

       Sayd, You be welcome, kyng Estmere,

       Right hartilye to mee.

      You have a daughter, said Adler younge,

       Men call her bright and sheene,

       My brother wold marrye her to his wiffe,

       Of Englande to be queene.

      Yesterday was att my deere daughter

       Syr Bremor the kyng of Spayne;

       And then she nicked him of naye,

       And I doubt sheele do you the same.

      The kyng of Spayne is a foule paynim,

       And 'leeveth on Mahound;

       And pitye it were that fayre ladye

       Shold marrye a heathen hound.

      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.

      Although itt is seven yeers and more

       Since my daughter was in halle,

       She shall come once downe for your sake

       To glad my guestes alle.

      Downe then came that mayden fayre,

       With ladyes laced in pall,

       And halfe a hundred of bold knightes,

       To bring her from bowre to hall;

       And as many gentle squiers,

       To tend upon them all.

      The talents of golde were on her head sette,

       Hanged low downe to her knee;

       And everye ring on her small fingèr

       Shone of the chrystall free.

      Saies, God you save, my deere madam;

       Saies, God you save and see.

       Said, You be welcome, kyng Estmere,

       Right welcome unto mee.

      And if you love me, as you saye,

       Soe well and hartilye,

       All that ever you are comin about

       Sooner sped now itt shal bee.

      Then bespake her father deare:

       My daughter, I saye naye;

       Remember well the kyng of Spayne,

       What he sayd yesterday.

      He wold pull downe my hales and castles,

       And reeve me of my life.

       I cannot blame him if he doe,

       If I reave him of his wyfe.

      Your castles and your towres, father,

       Are stronglye built aboute;

       And therefore of the king of Spaine

       Wee neede not stande in doubt.

      Plight me your troth, nowe, kyng Estmère,

       By heaven and your righte hand,

       That you will marrye me to your wyfe,

       And make me queene of your land.

      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.

      And he tooke leave of that ladye fayre,

       To goe to his owne countree,

       To fetche him dukes and lordes and knightes,

       That marryed the might bee.

      They had not ridden scant a myle,

       A myle forthe of the towne,

       But in did come the kyng of Spayne,

       With kempès many one.

      But in did come the kyng of Spayne,

       With manye a bold barone,

       Tone day to marrye kyng Adlands daughter,

       Tother daye to carrye her home.

      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.

      One whyle then the page he went,

       Another while he ranne;

       Tull he had oretaken king Estmere,

       I wis, he never blanne.

      Tydings, tydings, kyng Estmere!

       What tydinges nowe, my boye?

       O tydinges I can tell to you,

       That will you sore annoye.

      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:

      But in did come the kyng of Spayne

       With manye a bold barone,

       Tone daye to marrye king Adlands daughter,

       Tother daye to carry her home.

      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 ladyè.

      Saies, Reade me, reade me, deere brother,

       My reade shall ryde at thee,

       Whether it is better to turne and fighte,

       Or goe home and loose my ladye.

      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.

      My mother was a westerne woman,

       And learned in gramaryè,

       And when I learned at the schole,

       Something she taught itt mee.

      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:

      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.

      And you shall be a harper, brother,

       Out of the north countrye;

      

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