The weeks crept onward slowly, crept slowly--one, two, three;
But never came the young knight, no never more came he.
"Come, it is time that you were wed, for I have sought for you
A bridegroom fitted to your rank, an honest man and true."
"Nay, nay, I prithee, step-dame, there is none that I can wed,
Only my foster brother dear I love, alive or dead.
"With this ring his troth he plighted, and whatever fate betide,
He will come himself full gaily, and claim me for his bride."
"Peace, with thy golden wedding-ring! peace, fool, or I will teach
With blows thy senseless chattering tongue to hold discreeter speech;
"To-morrow thou shalt be the bride, whether thou wilt or not,
Of Giles the neat-herd, honest man: ay, this shall be thy lot."
"Of Giles the neat-herd, saidst thou? oh, I shall die of pain!
Oh mother, dear dead mother, that thou wert in life again!"
"Go, cry and wail without the house; go, feed on misery;
Go, take thy fill of moans and tears, for wedded thou shalt be."