No: 208; variant: 208B
- THE king he wrote a love-letter,
And he sealed it up with gold,
And he sent it to Lord Derwentwater,
For to read it if he could.
- The first two lines that he did read,
They made him for to smile;
But the next two lines he looked upon
Made the tears from his eyes to fall.
- ‘Oh,’ then cried out his lady fair,
As she in child-bed lay,
‘Make your will, make your will, Lord Derwentwater,
Before that you go away.’
- ‘Then here’s for thee, my lady fair,
. . . .
A thousand pounds of beaten gold,
To lead you a lady’s life.’
- . . . .
. . his milk-white steed,
The ring dropt from his little finger,
And his nose it began to bleed.
- He rode, and he rode, and he rode along,
Till he came to Westminster Hall,
Where all the lords of England’s court
A traitor did him call.
- ‘Oh, why am I a traitor?’ said he;
‘Indeed, I am no such thing;
I have fought the battles valiantly
Of James, our noble king.’
- O then stood up an old gray-headed man,
With a pole-axe in his hand:
‘‘Tis your head, ‘tis your head, Lord Derwentwater,
‘Tis your head that I demand.’
- . . . .
His eyes with weeping sore,
He laid his head upon the block,
And words spake never more.