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At length an old chest that had long lain hid, Was found in the castle—they raised the lid, And a skeleton form lay mouldering there, In the bridal wreath of the lady fair. Oh sad was her fate, in sportive jest, She hid from her lord in the old oak chest, It clos'd with a spring, and the bridal bloom Lay withering there in a living tomb.

It was a Friar of orders gray
 * Walked forth to tell his beads;

And he met with a lady fair,
 * Clad in a pilgrim's weeds.

Now Heaven theo save, thou reverend friar,
 * I pray thee tell to me,

If ever at your holy shrine
 * My true love thou didst see?

And how should I your true love know
 * From many another one?

O, by his cockle hat and staff,
 * And by his sandal shoon.

O lady, he is dead and gone,
 * Lady lie's dead and gone;

And at his head a green grass-turf,
 * And at his heels a stone.