Down in yonder green field,
There lies a knight slain under his shield.
His hounds they lie down at his feet
So well they their master keep.
His hawks they fly so eagerly,
There’s no fowl dare come him nigh.
Down there comes a fallow doe,
As great with young as she might go.
She lifted up his bloody head,
And kissed his wounds that were so red;
She got him up upon her back,
And carried him to earthen lake.
She buried him before the prime:
She was dead herself ere e’en-song time.
God send every gentleman
Such hawks, such hounds and such a leman.
