This night will I be at her bower-window,
Betide me weal or woe.
The boy he tripped, the boy he ran,
He neither stint nor stay'd
Until he came to fair Emmeline's bower,
When, kneeling down, he said,
O lady, I've been with thine own true love,
And he greets thee well by me;
This night will he be at thy bower-window,
And die or set thee free.
Now day was gone, and night was come,
And all were fast asleep,
All save the lady Emmeline,
Who sate in her bower to weep:
And soon she heard her true love's voice
Low whispering at the wall;
Awake, awake, my dear lady,
'Tis I, thy true love, call.
Awake, awake, my lady dear,
Come, mount this fair palfrey:
This ladder of ropes will let thee down,
I'll carry thee hence away.
Now nay, now nay, thou gentle knight,
Now nay, this may not be;
For aye should I tint my maiden fame,
If alone I should wend with thee.
O lady, thou wi