George Borrow,
Tord of Hafsborough, and Other Ballads
“ I’ll have Carl hanged, the son of the King.”Then the Countess in bitter grief answer made: “You’ll ne’er live so long as to see him dead.“My father’s servant last year thou wast, Now to sleep with his daughter the honour thou hast.”The Count at that word so ireful grew, He smote his wife that the blood out-flew.At hand was Sir Carl, heard all they spake: “I soon of this matter an end will make.”Then Carl he entered through the door, And a naked sword in his hand he bore.“Thou dog, thou shalt never more have the might The gentle daughters of Kings to smite. ”
