The Kings Daughter

We were ten maidens in the green corn,     Small red leaves in the mill-water:     Fairer maidens never were born,     Apples of gold for the kings daughter.     We were ten maidens by a well-head,     Small white birds in the mill-water:     Sweeter maidens never were wed,     Rings of red for the kings daughter.     The first to spin, the second to sing,     Seeds of wheat in the mill-water;     The third may was a goodly thing,     White bread and brown for the kings daughter.     The fourth to sew and the fifth to play,     Fair green weed in the mill-water;     The sixth may was a goodly may,     White wine and red for the kings daughter.     The seventh to woo, the eighth to wed,     Fair thin reeds in the mill-water;     The ninth had gold work on her head,     Honey in the comb for the kings daughter.     The ninth had gold work round her hair,     Fallen flowers in the mill-water;     The tenth may was goodly and fair,     Golden gloves for the kings daughter.     We were ten maidens in a field green,     Fallen fruit in the mill-water;     Fairer maidens never have been,     Golden sleeves for the kings daughter.     By there comes the kings young son,     A little wind in the mill-water;     Out of ten maidens yell grant me one,     A crown of red for the kings daughter.     Out of ten mays yell give me the best,     A little rain in the mill-water;     A bed of yellow straw for all the rest,     A bed of gold for the kings daughter.     Hes taen out the goodliest,     Rain that rains in the mill-water;     A comb of yellow shell for all the rest,     A comb of gold for the kings daughter.     Hes made her bed to the goodliest,     Wind and hail in the mill-water;     A grass girdle for all the rest,     A girdle of arms for the kings daughter.     Hes set his heart to the goodliest,     Snow that snows in the mill-water;     Nine little kisses for all the rest,     An hundredfold for the kings daughter.     Hes taen his leave at the goodliest,     Broken boats in the mill-water;     Golden gifts for all the rest,     Sorrow of heart for the kings daughter.     Yell make a grave for my fair body,     Running rain in the mill-water;     And yell streek my brother at the side of me,     The pains of hell for the kings daughter.