7
Oh, welcome, welcome, she replied,
As long as by your hands I die,
This is a pleasant marriage bed,
I'm ready-use your cruelty.
But may the heavens bring to light
Thy crime, and thus let it appear:
Winter and summer on this grave,
May the damask rose in ⟨bloom⟩ spring here.
Never wither though 'tis cropp'd,
But when thy hand doth touch the same,
Then may the bloom that minute blast,
To bring to light thy bitter shame.
More she'd have said, but with his sword
He pierced her tender body through,
Then threw her in the silent grave,
And filled the grave close up again.
With weeds the same did overspread,
Then unconcerned straight went home,
Immediately went he to his bed,
And thought no more of what he'd done.
The loss of their young daughter dear,
Her parents much did grieve,
She was sought after far and near,
For to all the riches she was heir.
'Tis twelve months since that this was done,
There's thousands for a truth doth know't
And many wonder'd at the same,
For all the winter it did spring.
