I sat and spun within the doore,
      My thread brake off, I raised myne eyes;
    The level sun, like ruddy ore,
      Lay sinking in the barren skies;
    And dark against day’s golden death
    She moved where Lindis wandereth,
    My sonne’s faire wife, Elizabeth.

   “Cusha!  Cusha!  Cusha!” calling,
    Ere the early dews were falling,
    Farre away I heard her song,
   “Cusha!  Cusha!” all along;
    Where the reedy Lindis floweth,
        Floweth, floweth,
    From the meads where melick groweth
    Faintly came her milking song—­

   “Cusha!  Cusha!  Cusha!” calling,
   “For the dews will soone be falling;
    Leave your meadow grasses mellow,
        Mellow, mellow;
    Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow;
    Come uppe, Whitefoot, come uppe, Lightfoot;
    Quit the stalks of parsley hollow,
        Hollow, hollow;
    Come uppe, Jetty, rise and follow,
    From the clovers lift your head;
    Come uppe, Whitefoot, come uppe, Lightfoot,
    Come uppe, Jetty, rise and follow,
    Jetty, to the milking shed.”

    If it be long ay, long ago,
      When I beginne to think howe long,
    Againe I hear the Lindis flow,
      Swift as an arrowe, sharpe and strong;
    And all the aire, it seemeth mee,
    Bin full of floating bells (sayth shee),
    That ring the tune of Enderby.

    Alle fresh the level pasture lay,
      And not a shadowe mote be seene,
    Save where full fyve good miles away
      The steeple tower’d from out the greene;
    And lo! the great bell farre and wide
    Was heard in all the country side
    That Saturday at eventide.

    The swanherds where their sedges are
      Mov’d on in sunset’s golden breath,
    The shepherde lads I heard afarre,
      And my sonne’s wife, Elizabeth;
    Till floating o’er the grassy sea
    Came downe that kyndly message free,
    The “Brides of Mavis Enderby.”

    Then some look’d uppe into the sky,
      And all along where Lindis flows
    To where the goodly vessels lie,
      And where the lordly steeple shows. 
    They sayde, “And why should this thing be? 
    What danger lowers by land or sea? 
    They ring the tune of Enderby!

   “For evil news from Mablethorpe,
      Of pyrate galleys warping down;
    For shippes ashore beyond the scorpe,
      They have not spar’d to wake the towne: 
    But while the west bin red to see,
    And storms be none, and pyrates flee,
    Why ring ’The Brides of Enderby’?”

    I look’d without, and lo! my sonne
      Came riding downe with might and main;
    He rais’d a shout as he drew on,
      Till all the welkin rang again,
   “Elizabeth!  Elizabeth!”
    (A sweeter woman ne’er drew breath
    Than my sonne’s wife, Elizabeth.)