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 With that the rogue ran to the wall,

He having had his will,

And brought one child under his arm,

His dearest blood to spill.

The child seeing his father there,

To him for help did call,

O father help my mother dear,

We shall be killed all.

Then fell the lord upon his knees,

And did the Moor entreat,

To save the life of his poor child,

Whose fears was then so great.

But the sad wretch the little child,

By both the heels did take,

And dash'd his head against the wall,

While parent's heart did quake.

But being dead, he quickly ran!

The other child to fetch

And pluck'd it from the mother's breast,

Like a most cruel wretch.

Within one hand a knife he brought,

The child into the other,

And holding it over the wall,

Said, thus shall die the mother.

With that he cut the throat of it,

Then of the father calls,

To see how he the head had cut

That down the brains did fall.