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220 the king of France's daughter.
While she cryed out, " My darling,
Would God that I had dy'd for thee ! " 100
His pale lips, alas !
Twenty times she kissed, And his face did wash
With her brinish tears ; Every bleeding wound ios
Her fair face bedewed, Wiping off the blood
With her golden hairs. [" Speak, my love," quoth she,] " Speak, fair prince, to me; no
One sweet word of comfort give ; Lift up thy fair eyes, Listen to my cries,
Think in what great grief I live." All in vain she sued, us
All in vain she wooed,
The prince's life was fled and gone ; There stood she still mourning 'Till the sun's returning,
And bright day was coming on. 120
In this great distress
Quoth this royal lady, " Who can now express
What will become of me ?
109, from Old Ballads, 1723. |
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