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3 Alas! Good Lady, (then quoth he)

Why art thou grieved so?

Content thyself, I will return

With speed to thee again;

Good father, quoah the little babes,

With us still here remain.

Farewel dear children, I will go

A fine thing you to buy;

But they therewith no whit content,

Aloud began to cry.

Their mother takes them by the hand,

Saying, Come go with me.

Unto the highest tower, where

Your father you shall see.

The Blackamoor perceived now,

Who then did stay behind,

His Lord a hunting to be gone,

Began to call to mind,

My Master he did me correct,

My fault not being great;

Now of his wife I'll be reveng'd,

He shall not me intreat.

The place was moated round about,

The bridge he up did draw;

The gates he bolted very strong,

Of none he stood in awe.

He up into the Tower went,

His Lady being there,

Who when she saw his count'nance grim,

She straight began to fear.