Marsk Stig: a ballad

They watch’d him sly, they watch’d him nigh, Whether the King went down or up; But best they sped, in the hour so dread, When the King would ride to Tinderup.

Marsk Stig he out of the country rode To win him fame with his good bright sword; At home meantide the King will bide In hope to lure his heart’s ador’d.

“I dream’d my ship, my tall, tall ship, To a boat did dwindle suddenly; Its mast was gone, it helm had none, Full soon it sank in the briny sea.

“Our Lord we’ve slain, a corse he lies, The band of peace we thus have riven; Within the land we can make no stand, From land and friends we now are driven.