Classic Poem

There was a lord of worthy fame
and a hunting he would ride;
Attended by a noble train
of gentry by his side.

And whilst he did in chase remain,
to see both sport and play,
His lady went, as she did feign,
unto the church to pray.

This lord he had a daughter fair,
whose beauty shin'd so bright,
She was belov'd both far and near,
of many a lord and knight.

Fair Isabella was she call'd,
a creature fair was she;
She was her father's only joy,
as you shall after see.

But yet her cruel step-mother,
did envy her so much,
That day by day she sought her life,
her malice it was such.

She bargain'd with the Master Cook,
to take her life away,
And taking of her daughter's book,
she thus to her did say:

Go home, sweet daughter, I thee pray,
go hasten presently,
And tell unto the Master Cook,
these words that I tell thee.

And bid him dress to dinner straight,
that faire and milk white doe,
That in the park doth shine so bright,
there's none so fair to show.

This lady fearing of no harm,
obey'd her mother's will,
And presently she hasted home,
her mind for to fulfil.

She straight into the kitchen went,
her message for to tell;
And there the Master Cook she spy'd
who did with malice swell.

You Master Cook, it must be so,
do that which I thee tell,
You needs must dress the milk white doe,
which you do know full well.

Then straight his cruel bloody hands,
he on the lady laid,
Who quivering and shaking stands,
whilst thus to her he said:

Thou art the doe that I must dress,
see, here behold my knife,
For it is pointed presently,
to rid thee of thy life.

O then cry'd out the scullion boy
as loud as loud might be,
O save her life, good Master Cook,
and make your pies of me.

For pity sake, do not destroy
my lady with your knife,
You know she is her father's joy,
for Christ's sake save her life.

I will not save her life, he said,
nor make my pies of thee,
But if thou dost this deed bewray,
thy butcher I will be.

But, when this lord, he did come home,
for to sit down and eat,
He called for his daughter dear,
to come and carve his meat.

Now sit you down, his lady said,
O sit you down to meat.
Into some nunnery she is gone,
your daughter dear forget.

Then solemnly he made a vow,
before the company,
That he would neither eat nor drink,
until he did her see.

O then bespoke the scullion boy,
with a loud voice so high,
If that you will your daughter see,
my lord, cut up that pie.

Wherein her flesh is minced small,
and parched with the fire,
All caused by her step-mother,
who did her death desire.

And cursed be the Master Cook,
O cursed may he be,
I proffered him my own heart's blood,
from death to set her free.

Then all in black this lord did mourn,
and for his daughter's sake
He judged for her step-mother
to be burnt at a stake.

Likewise he judg'd the Master Cook,
in boiling oil to stand,
And made the simple scullion boy
the heir to all his land.