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Great marvell at her olemn cheer he made; Then, obbing deepe, Glad will Syr Martyn be, Faire Syr, of your retourne, he gently aid; But what mihap! our infant familie, The dearest babes, though they were nought to me, That ever breathd, are laid in deadlie plight: What shall we do!—great were your courteie To lodge in yonder tenants houe to night; The kilfull leache forbids that noie my babes hould fright.

Blunt was the Boy, and to the farme-houe nigh To wait his brother, at her bidding fares, Conducted by a goip pert and ly: Kathrin the while her malengines prepares. Now gan the duke upend the plowmans cares, When from his rural portes arrives the Knight; Soon with his mates the jovial bowl he hares, His hall reounds!—amazd the tranger wight Arreads it all as done to him in fell depight.