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Oh then, cried out the scullion-boye,
As loud as loud might bee,
Oh save her life, good master-cook,
And make your pyes of mee!
For pitye's sake, do not destroye
My ladye with your knife;
You know shee is her father's joye,
For Christe's sake, save her life.
I will not save her life, he sayd,
Nor make my pyes of thee;
Yet, if thou dost this deed bewraye,
Thy butcher I will bee.
Now when this lord he did come home
For to'sit downe and eat,
He called for his daughter deare
To come and carve his meat.
Now sit you downe, his ladye say'd,
Oh sit you down to meat;
Into some nunnery she is gone,
Your daughter deare forget.
Then solemnlye he made a vowe
Before the companie,
That he would neither eat nor drinke
Until he did her see.
Oh then bespake the scullion-boye,
With a loud voice so hye--If
now you will your daughter see,
My lord, cut up that pye:
Wherein her flesh is minced small,
And parched with the fire;
All caused by her stepmother,
Who did her death desire.


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