听我,先生们,你要有一颗心; He tell you of two of the boldest brethren, That ever born y-were. The tone of them as Adler yonge, The tother was Kyng Estmere; The were as bolde men in their deedes, As any were, farr and neare. As they were drinking ale and wine Within Kyng Estmeres halle: 'When will ye marry a wyfe, brother, A wyfe to gladd us all?' Then bespake him Kyng Estmere, And answered him hatilee 'I know not that ladye in any lande, That is able to marry with mee.' 'Kyng Adland hath a daughter, brother, Men call her bright and sheene; If I were kyng here in your stead, That ladye shold be queene.' Sayes, 'Reade me, reade me, deare brother, Throughout merry England, Where we might find a messenger Betweene us two to sende.' Sayes, 'You shall ryde yourselfe, brother, He beare you companee; Many throughe fals messengers are deceived, And I feare lest soe shold wee.' Thus the renisht them to ryde Of twoe good renisht steedes, And when they came to Kyng Adlands halle, Of red golde shone their weedes. And when the came to Kyng Adlands halle Before the goodlye yate, Ther they found good Kyng Adland Rearing himselfe theratt. 'Nowe Christ thee save, good Kyng Adland, Nowe Christ thee save and see.' Sayd, 'You be welcome, Kyng Estmere, Right hartilye to mee.' 'You have a daughter,' sayd Adler yonge, 'Men call her bright and sheene; My brother wold marrye her to his wiffe, Of Englande to be queene.' 'Yesterdaye was att my dere daughter Syr Bremor the Kyng of Spayne; And then she nicked him of naye; I feare sheele do youe the same.' 'The Kyng of Spayne is a foule paynim, And leevith 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 dere Before I goe hence awaye.' 'Althoughe itt is seven yeare and more Syth my daughter was in halle, She shall come downe once for your sake, To glad my guestes alle.' Downe then came that mayden fayre, With ladyes lacede in pall, And halfe a hondred of bolde knightes, To bring her from bowre to hall, And eke as manye gentle squieres, To waite upon them all. The talents of golde were on her head sette, Hunge low downe to her knee; And everye rynge on her small finger Shone of the chrystall free. Sayes, 'Christ you save, my deare Madame;' Sayes, 'Christ you save and see;' Sayes, 'You be welcome, Kyng Estmere, Right welcome unto mee. 'And iff you love me, as you saye, So well and hartilee, All that ever you are comen about Soone sped now itt may bee.' Then bespake her father deare: 'My daughter, I saye naye; Remember well the Kyng of Spayne, What he sayd yesterdaye. 'He wold pull downe my halles and castles, And reave me of my lyfe: And ever I feare that paynim kyng, Iff I reave him of his wyfe.' 'Your castles and your towres, father, Are stronglye built aboute; And therefore of that foule paynim Wee neede not stande in doubte. 'Plyght me your troth nowe, Kyng Estmere, By heaven and your right hande, 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 Kynge of Spayne, With kempes many a one: But in did come the Kyng of Spayne, With manye a grimme barone, Tone day to marrye Kyng Adlands daughter, Tother daye to carrye her home. Then shee sent after Kyng Estmere, In all the spede might bee, That he must either returne and fighte, Or goe home and lose his ladye. One whyle then the page he went, Another whyle he ranne; Till he had oretaken Kyng Estmere, I wis, he never blame. 'Tydinges, tydinges, Kyng Estmere!' 'What tydinges nowe, my boye?' 'O tydinges I can tell you, That will you sore annoye. 'You had not ridden scant a myle, A myle out of the towne, But in did come the Kyng of Spayne With kempes many a one: 'But in did come the Kyng of Spayne With manye a grimme barone, Tone day to marrye Kyng Adlands daughter, Tother daye to carrye her home. 'That ladye fayre she greetes you well, And ever-more well by mee: You must either turne againe and fighte, Or goe home and lose your ladye.' Sayes, 'Reade me, reade me, deare brother, My reade shal