The Foundling

A daughter fair of England's king,
Without a tear she had spent her youth,
But sorrow now her heart shall wring,
For young Sir Styge has had her troth,

In honour and virtue wont to live
Without a tear she had spent her youth
And only to him her hand will give,
For young Sir Styge has had her troth.

Nor sooner were forty weeks gone by,
Than loudly the fair was heard to cry.

She muffled her up in mantle blue,
And down to the room of stone withdrew.

Alone she is all in secret gone,
And there she has borne an infant son.

Her child in linen so fine she dress'd,
And secretly laid in a gilded chest.

And since he had never had church's rite,
She set in it hallowed salt and light.

She muffled a cloak about her head,
And down to sea with her infant sped.

She paced for a while the silent strand,
And off the casket she pushed from land.

She drove it to sea with all her might,
"To Christ I trust thee, my little wight:

"May He from all evil keep thee free,
"A mother no longer hast thou in me."

The King was hunting and reached the strand.
And found the chest, as it drove to land.

He opened the lid, and saw a child,
And fair was the babe, and sweetly smiled.

He raised it out of its little chest.
And had it as Christian dipped and bless'd;

Then took the money from out his purse.
And put the baby so small to nurse.

"See, dame, to rear him with utmost care,
"For nobly born is a child so fair."

She nurs'd five winters his tender age,
And then he was made the king's own page.

He grew, till he reach'd his eighteenth year,
And then he the royal banner bare.

The king had given him forts and land.
Would give him to boot his daughter's hand.

The good old King to his daughter spake;
"When wilt thou, my child, a husband take."

"Whenever it be my father's will,
My duty gladly will I fulfil."

"Sir Carl is my best and bravest knight."
"But, father. Sir Styge is my delight."

As drew the day of the wedding near,
Could nothing the lady's sorrow cheer.

Five days they were drinking the bridal wine,
And still she would not her seat resign.

But soon as a sixth day too had fled,
They carried her off by force to bed.

Nor long had waited the weeping bride,
Ere gallant Sir Carl was at her side.

He tapped her gently the lily cheek,
"Now turn thee, my dearest, to me, and speak."

"Hush! hush! now. Sir Carl, my son, and see
"A mother and not a wife in me,

"Foul shame it would be to my father's land,
"That mother should give a son her hand."'

"And shame were it too, should that be told,
"That you, a mother, wear crown of gold."

The King he came with the morning light,
To ask of them how they spent the night.

"For all his kindness I thank my King,
"Yet nothing but scorn this match will bring.

"The King would on me his favours shed,
"But bere he has made me my mother wed."

"We'll bum her to death on faggot pile,
"Or send her off to a paynim isle."

"O spare her, my liege, nor treat her so,
Without a tear she has spent her youth
But on Sir Styge her hand bestow.
For he Sir Styge has had her troth.