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7
The maid took compassion,
and struck up a light,
She open’d the door,
and the boy stood in sight,
He had wings on his shoulders,
all droopin with wet,
His bow and his arrows,
His bow, &c
between them was set.
She stirred up the fire,
sat down by his side,
She took a clean napkin
the wet from him dry’d.
And choffed him all over,
to keep out the cold air,
And from with her hand she wrung,
And with &c.
the wet out of his hair,
Then out of his quiver,
an arrow he drew,
He touched the string,
and so twang went the bow,
It went into her bosom,
therefore to present her,
