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OLD ROBIN OF PORTINGALE
' And of that thanke your head-steward, And, after, your ladie fair.'—
' If it be true, my little foot-page, Of my land I'll make thee heir.'—
' If it be not true, my deare master,
God let me never thye.'— ' If it be not true, thou little foot-page,
A dead corse shult thou be.'
xv He called down his head-cookes-man
In kitchen supper to dress ; ' All and anon, my deere master !
Anon at your request ! '—
[' Let supper be drest, and of the best
Let it prepared be] And call you downe my faire lady,
This night to supp with mee.'
And downe then came that fair lady, 'Was clad all in purple and palle;
The rings that were upon her fingers Cast light thorrow the hall.
' What is your will, my owne wed lord, What is your will with mee ?'—
' 'Tis I am sicke, fayre lady, Sore sicke and like to dye.'—
thye] thrive. palle] fine cloth.