asleep reading, as I often did, she would kiss me awake.

'Go, maids, and draw the well-water,

Gird on my jack, and my old sword,

And you must be the chief of all

But you must take my old broadsword,

And cut the green boughs of the tree,

And strew the green boughs on the ground,

To make a soft death-bed for me.

And you must bring the holy priest,