“Now welcome be, Sir Thunye the Knight, Unto this savage Swedish clime; I say to thee in verity I’ve sighed for thee a weary time.
“When I was but a little child, To me ’twas spaed that a knight should come From foreign land, should Allevod slay, And to England’s realm should bear me home.
“I beg of thee, Sir Thunye the Knight, That thou as a Knight by me wilt stand; There liveth none beneath the sun, To whom I’d sooner yield my hand.”
Then answered amain Sir Thunye the Knight, As he bowed his knee to the Lady fair; “With heart and hand by thee to stand, By the holy name of Christ I swear.”
And so he took the lovely maid, With her store of gold so ruddy of hue; And to Denmark’s land he her conveyed, Where a loving pair full soon they grew.
He has carried her to his castle hall, Like a blooming flower there she shone; Rejoicéd all, both great and small, In Alsey’s ancient town that wone.
It was bold Sir Thunye the Knight, His knightly faith so well kept he; The next, next Monday morn he held His bridal’s high festivity.
’Twas noised about in merry England The King’s lost daughter was found at last; Rejoiced, I ween, the King and Queen, And away for ever their grief they cast.
The King a scroll to Sir Thunye sent, Wishing him luck with his Ermeline; And begged he’d come across the foam That he to him might the crown resign.
It was good Sir Thunye the Knight, He spread on the yard his sails so wide; And they arrived in the far England In less, I’m told, than two months’ tide.
It was good Sir Thunye the Knight, He steered his vessel towards the strand; And, lo! the ancient King and Queen Were walking on the yellow sand.
“Now welcome be Sir Thunye the Knight, Thrice welcome be to this foreign strand; Of England all the fair kingdom shall Be subject to thy knightly hand.”
So he the kingdom has resigned, And he has crowned the knight of fame; And dales and downs and England’s towns Thus subject to the knight became.
Now has Sir Thunye all achieved, And now to joy may his heart resign; He rules by day old England gay, And sleeps at night with his Ermeline.
A King more powerful there is none Than he, the flower of chivalry; The knights, they say, of Sweden pray He never more their guest may be.