FOOTNOTES:
[322] Entdecktes Judenthum, vol. ii. p. 220.
[323] Two of the Saxon Chronicles Parallel, 1865, p. 371.
[324] History of the Jews, ed. 1863, vol. iii. p. 249.
[325] Mr. Hales points out to me the following reference to the superstition in Marlowe's Jew of Malta, act iii.:—
"Friar Jacomo. Why, what has he done?
Friar Barnardine. A thing that makes me tremble to unfold.
Jac. What, has he crucified a child?
Bar. No, but a worse thing; 'twas told me in shrift;
Thou know'st 'tis death, an if it be reveal'd."
Dyce in his note quotes from Reed a reference to Tovey's Anglio Judaica, where instances of such crucifixion are given.
[326] [ball.]
[327] [play-fellows.]
[328] [she.]
[329] [pulled.]
[330] [dress.]
[331] [parted in two.]
[332] [she rolled.]
[333] [if.]
[334] [if.]
[335] [cannot.]
IV.
SIR CAULINE.
This old romantic tale was preserved in the Editor's folio MS. but in so very defective and mutilated a condition (not from any chasm in the MS. but from great omission in the transcript, probably copied from the faulty recitation of some illiterate minstrell), and the whole appeared so far short of the perfection it seemed to deserve, that the Editor was tempted to add several stanzas in the first part, and still more in the second, to connect and compleat the story in the manner which appeared to him most interesting and affecting.
There is something peculiar in the metre of this old ballad: it is not unusual to meet with redundant stanzas of six lines; but the occasional insertion of a double third or fourth line, as ver. 31, &c. is an irregularity I do not remember to have seen elsewhere.
It may be proper to inform the reader before he comes to Pt. ii. v. 110, 111, that the Round Table was not peculiar to the reign of K. Arthur, but was common in all the ages of chivalry. The proclaiming a great turnament (probably with some peculiar solemnities) was called "holding a Round Table." Dugdale tells us, that the great baron Roger de Mortimer "having procured the honour of knighthood to be conferred 'on his three sons' by K. Edw. I. he, at his own costs, caused a tourneament to be held at Kenilworth; where he sumptuously entertained an hundred knights, and as many ladies, for three days; the like whereof was never before in England; and there began the Round Table, (so called by reason that the place wherein they practised those feats was environed with a strong wall made in a round form:) And upon the fourth day, the golden lion, in sign of triumph, being yielded to him; he carried it (with all the company) to Warwick."—It may further be added, that Matthew Paris frequently calls justs and turnaments Hastiludia Mensæ Rotundæ.
As to what will be observed in this ballad of the art of healing being practised by a young princess; it is no more than what is usual in all the old romances, and was conformable to real manners: it being a practice derived from the earliest times among all the Gothic and Celtic nations, for women, even of the highest rank, to exercise the art of surgery. In the Northern Chronicles we always find the young damsels stanching the wounds of their lovers, and the wives those of their husbands.[336] And even so late as the time of Q. Elizabeth, it is mentioned among the accomplishments of the ladies of her court, that the "eldest of them are skilful in surgery." See Harrison's Description of England, prefixed to Hollinshed's Chronicle, &c.
[This story of Sir Cauline furnishes one of the most flagrant instances of Percy's manipulation of his authorities. In the following poem all the verses which are due to Percy's invention are placed between brackets, but the whole has been so much altered by him that it has been found necessary to reprint the original from the folio MS. at the end in order that readers may compare the two. Percy put into his version several new incidents and altered the ending, by which means he was able to dilute the 201 lines of the MS. copy into 392 of his own. There was no necessity for this perversion of the original, because the story is there complete, and moreover Percy did not sufficiently indicate the great changes he had made, for although nearly every verse is altered he only noted one trivial difference of reading, viz. aukeward for backward (v. 109).
Motherwell reprinted this ballad in his Minstrelsy, and in his prefatory note he made the following shrewd guess, which we now know to be a correct one:—"We suspect too that the ancient ballad had a less melancholy catastrophe, and that the brave Syr Cauline, after his combat with the 'hend Soldan' derived as much benefit from the leechcraft of fair Cristabelle as he did after winning the Eldridge sword." Professor Child has expressed the same view in his note to the ballad.
Buchan printed a ballad entitled King Malcolm and Sir Colvin, which is more like the original than Percy's version, but Mr. Hales is of opinion that this was one of that collector's fabrications.]
THE FIRST PART.
[In Ireland, ferr over the sea,
There dwelleth a bonnye kinge;
And with him a yong and comlye knighte,
Men call him syr Caulìne.
The kinge had a ladye to his daughter,5
In fashyon she hath no peere;
And princely wightes that ladye wooed
To be theyr wedded feere.[337]]
Syr Cauline loveth her best of all,
But nothing durst he saye;10
Ne descreeve[338] his counsayl to no man,
But deerlye he lovde this may.[339]
Till on a daye it so beffell,
Great dill[340] to him was dight;[341]
The maydens love removde his mynd,15
To care-bed went the knighte.
One while he spred his armes him fro,
One while he spred them nye:
And aye! but I winne that ladyes love,
For dole[342] now I mun[343] dye.20
And whan our parish-masse was done,
Our kinge was bowne[344] to dyne:
He sayes, Where is syr Cauline,
That is wont to serve the wyne?
Then aunswerde him a courteous knighte,25
And fast his handes gan wringe:
Sir Cauline is sicke, and like to dye
Without a good leechìnge.[345]
Fetche me downe my daughter deere,
She is a leeche fulle fine:30
Goe take him doughe,[346] and the baken bread,
And serve him with the wyne soe red;
Lothe I were him to tine.[347]
Fair Christabelle to his chaumber goes,
Her maydens followyng nye:35
O well, she sayth, how doth my lord?
O sicke, thou fayr ladyè.
Nowe ryse up wightlye,[348] man, for shame,
Never lye soe cowardlee;
For it is told in my fathers halle,40
You dye for love of mee.
Fayre ladye, it is for your love
That all this dill I drye:[349]
For if you wold comfort me with a kisse,
Then were I brought from bale to blisse,45
No lenger wold I lye.
[Sir knighte, my father is a kinge,
I am his onlye heire;
Alas! and well you knowe, syr knighte,
I never can be youre fere.50
O ladye, thou art a kinges daughtèr,
And I am not thy peere,
But let me doe some deedes of armes
To be your bacheleere.[350]
Some deedes of armes if thou wilt doe,55
My bacheleere to bee,
(But ever and aye my heart wold rue,
Giff[351] harm shold happe to thee,)]
Upon Eldridge[352] hill there groweth a thorne,
Upon the mores brodinge;[353]60
And dare ye, syr knighte, wake there all nighte
Until the fayre mornìnge?
For the Eldridge knighte, so mickle[354] of mighte,
Will examine you beforne:[355]
And never man bare life awaye,65
But he did him scath[356] and scorne.
[That knighte he is a foul paynìm,[357]
And large of limb and bone;
And but if heaven may be thy speede,
Thy life it is but gone.70
Nowe on the Eldridge hilles Ile walke,[358]
For thy sake, fair ladìe;]
And He either bring you a ready tokèn,
Or He never more you see
The lady is gone to her own chaumbère,75
Her maydens following bright:
[Syr Cauline lope[359] from care-bed soone,
And to the Eldridge hills is gone,]
For to wake there all night.
Unto midnight, that the moone did rise,80
He walked up and downe;
Then a lightsome bugle heard he blowe
Over the bents[360] soe browne;
Quoth hee, If cryance come till[361] my heart,
I am ffar from any good towne.85
And soone he spyde on the mores so broad,
A furyous wight and fell;[362]
A ladye bright his brydle led,
Clad in a fayre kyrtèll:
And soe fast he called on syr Caulìne,90
O man, I rede[363] thee flye,
For 'but' if cryance comes till thy heart,
I weene but thou mun dye.
He sayth, 'No' cryance comes till my heart,
Nor, in faith, I wyll not flee;95
For, cause thou minged[364] not Christ before,
The less me dreadeth thee.
[The Eldridge knighte, he pricked his steed;
Syr Cauline bold abode:
Then either shooke his trustye speare,]100
And the timber these two children[365] bare
Soe soone in sunder slode.[366]
Then tooke they out theyr two good swordes,
And layden[367] on full faste,
[Till helme and hawberke, mail and sheelde,105
They all were well-nye brast.[368]]
The Eldridge knight was mickle of might,
And stiffe in stower[369] did stande,
But syr Cauline with a 'backward' stroke,[370]
He smote off his right hand;110
That soone he with paine and lacke of bloud
Fell downe on that lay-land.[371]
[Then up syr Cauline lift his brande
All over his head so hye:
And here I sweare by the holy roode,115
Nowe, caytiffe, thou shalt dye.
Then up and came that ladye brighte,
Fast wringing of her hande:
For the maydens love, that most you love,
Withold that deadlye brande:120
For the maydens love, that most you love,
Now smyte no more I praye;
And aye whatever thou wilt, my lord,
He shall thy hests[372] obaye.
Now sweare to mee, thou Eldridge knighte,125
And here on this lay-land,
That thou wilt believe on Christ his laye,[373]
And therto plight thy hand:
And that thou never on Eldridge come
To sporte, gamon,[374] or playe:130
And that thou here give up thy armes
Until thy dying daye.
The Eldridge knighte gave up his armes
With many a sorrowfulle sighe;
And sware to obey syr Caulines hest,135
Till the tyme that he shold dye.]
And he then up and the Eldridge knighte
Sett him in his saddle anone,
And the Eldridge knighte and his ladye
To theyr castle are they gone.140
[Then he tooke up the bloudy hand,
That was so large of bone,
And on it he founde five ringes of gold
Of knightes that had be slone.[375]
Then he tooke up the Eldridge sworde,145
As hard as any flint:
And he tooke off those ringès five,
As bright as fyre and brent.
Home then pricked[376] syr Cauline
As light as leafe on tree:150
I-wys he neither stint ne blanne,[377]
Till he his ladye see.
Then downe he knelt upon his knee
Before that lady gay:
O ladye, I have bin on the Eldridge hills:155
These tokens I bring away.
Now welcome, welcome, syr Caulìne,
Thrice welcome unto mee,
For now I perceive thou art a true knighte,
Of valour bolde and free.160
O ladye, I am thy own true knighte,
Thy hests for to obaye:
And mought I hope to winne thy love!—
Ne more his tonge colde say.
The ladye blushed scarlette redde,165
And fette[378] a gentill sighe:
Alas! syr knight, how may this bee,
For my degree's soe highe?
But sith thou hast hight,[379] thou comely youth,
To be my batchilere,170
Ile promise if thee I may not wedde
I will have none other fere.[380]
Then shee held forthe her lilly-white hand
Towards that knighte so free;
He gave to it one gentill kisse,175
His heart was brought from bale to blisse,
The teares sterte[381] from his ee.
But keep my counsayl, syr Caulìne,
Ne let no man it knowe;
For and ever my father sholde it ken,180
I wot he wolde us sloe.[382]
From that daye forthe that ladye fayre
Lovde syr Caulìne the knighte:
From that daye forthe he only joyde
Whan shee was in his sight.185
Yea and oftentimes they mette
Within a fayre arbòure,
Where they in love and sweet daliaunce
Past manye a pleasaunt houre.]
⁂ In this conclusion of the First Part, and at the beginning of the Second, the reader will observe a resemblance to the story of Sigismunda and Guiscard, as told by Boccace and Dryden. See the latter's description of the lovers meeting in the cave; and those beautiful lines, which contain a reflection so like this of our poet, "everye white," &c., viz.:
"But as extremes are short of ill and good,
And tides at highest mark regorge their flood;
So Fate, that could no more improve their joy,
Took a malicious pleasure to destroy
Tancred, who fondly loved," &c.
PART THE SECOND.
Everye white will have its blacke,
And everye sweete its sowre:
This founde the ladye Christabelle
In an untimely howre.
For so it befelle, as syr Caulìne5
Was with that ladye faire,
The kinge her father walked forthe
To take the evenyng aire:
And into the arboure as he went
To rest his wearye feet,10
He found his daughter and syr Caulìne
There sette in daliaunce sweet.
The kinge hee sterted forthe, i-wys,[383]
And an angrye man was hee:
Nowe, traytoure, thou shalt hange or drawe,15
And rewe shall thy ladìe.
Then forthe syr Cauline he was ledde,
And throwne in dungeon deepe:
And the ladye into a towre so hye,
There left to wayle and weepe.20
The queene she was syr Caulines friend,
And to the kinge sayd shee:
I praye you save syr Caulines life,
And let him banisht bee.
Now, dame, that traitor shall be sent25
Across the salt sea fome:
But here I will make thee a band,[384]
If ever he come within this land,
A foule deathe is his doome.
All woe-begone was that gentil knight30
To parte from his ladyè;
And many a time he sighed sore,
And cast a wistfulle eye:
Faire Christabelle, from thee to parte,
Farre lever[385] had I dye.35
Faire Christabelle, that ladye bright,
Was had forthe of the towre;
But ever shee droopeth in her minde,
As nipt by an ungentle winde
Doth some faire lillye flowre.40
And ever shee doth lament and weepe
To tint[386] her lover soe:
Syr Cauline, thou little think'st on mee,
But I will still be true.
Manye a kynge, and manye a duke,45
And lorde of high degree,
Did sue to that fayre ladye of love;
But never shee wolde them nee.[387]
When manye a daye was past and gone,
Ne comforte she colde finde,50
The kynge proclaimed a tourneament,
To cheere his daughters mind:
And there came lords, and there came knights,
Fro manye a farre countryè,
To break a spere for theyr ladyes love55
Before that faire ladyè.
And many a ladye there was sette
In purple and in palle:[388]
But faire Christabelle soe woe-begone
Was the fayrest of them all.60
Then manye a knighte was mickle of might
Before his ladye gaye;
But a stranger wight, whom no man knewe,
He wan the prize eche daye.
His acton[389] it was all of blacke,65
His hewberke,[390] and his sheelde,
Ne noe man wist whence he did come,
Ne noe man knewe where he did gone,
When they came from the feelde.
And now three days were prestlye[391] past70
In feates of chivalrye,
When lo upon the fourth mornìnge
A sorrowfulle sight they see.
A hugye giaunt stiffe and starke,
All foule of limbe and lere;[392]75
Two goggling eyen like fire farden,[393]
A mouthe from eare to eare.
Before him came a dwarffe full lowe,
That waited on his knee,
And at his backe five heads he bare,80
All wan and pale of blee.[394]
Sir, quoth the dwarffe, and louted[395] lowe,
Behold that hend[396] Soldàin!
Behold these heads I beare with me!
They are kings which he hath slain.85
The Eldridge knìght is his own cousìne,
Whom a knight of thine hath shent:[397]
And hee is come to avenge his wrong,
And to thee, all thy knightes among,
Defiance here hath sent.90
But yette he will appease his wrath
Thy daughters love to winne:
And but thou yeelde him that fayre mayd,
Thy halls and towers must brenne.[398]
Thy head, syr king, must goe with mee;95
Or else thy daughter deere;
Or else within these lists soe broad
Thou must finde him a peere.[399]
The king he turned him round aboute,
And in his heart was woe:100
Is there never a knighte of my round tablè,
This matter will undergoe?
[Is there never a knighte amongst yee all
Will fight for my daughter and mee?
Whoever will fight yon grimme soldàn,105
Right fair his meede shall bee.
For hee shall have my broad lay-lands,
And of my crowne be heyre;
And he shall winne fayre Christabelle
To be his wedded fere.110
But every knighte of his round table
Did stand both still and pale;
For whenever they lookt on the grim soldàn,
It made their hearts to quail.
All woe-begone was that fayre ladyè,115
When she sawe no helpe was nye:
She cast her thought on her owne true-love,
And the teares gusht from her eye.
Up then sterte the stranger knighte,
Sayd, Ladye, be not affrayd:120
Ile fight for thee with this grimme soldàn,
Thoughe he be unmacklye[400] made.
And if thou wilt lend me the Eldridge sworde,
That lyeth within thy bowre,
I truste in Christe for to slay this fiende125
Thoughe he be stiff in stowre.
Goe fetch him downe the Eldridge sworde,
The kinge he cryde, with speede:
Nowe heaven assist thee, courteous knighte;
My daughter is thy meede.[401]130
The gyaunt he stepped into the lists,
And sayd, Awaye, awaye:
I sweare, as I am the hend soldàn,
Thou lettest[402] me here all daye.
Then forthe the stranger knight he came135
In his blacke armoure dight:
The ladye sighed a gentle sighe,
"That this were my true knighte!"
And nowe the gyaunt and knighte be mett
Within the lists soe broad;140
And now with swordes soe sharpe of steele,
They gan to lay on load.[403]
The soldan strucke the knighte a stroke,
That made him reele asyde;
Then woe-begone was that fayre ladyè,145
And thrice she deeply sighde.
The soldan strucke a second stroke,
And made the bloude to flowe:
All pale and wan was that ladye fayre,
And thrice she wept for woe.150
The soldan strucke a third fell stroke,
Which brought the knighte on his knee:
Sad sorrow pierced that ladyes heart,
And she shriekt loud shriekings three.
The knighte he leapt upon his feete,155
All recklesse of the pain:
Quoth hee, But[404] heaven be now my speede,
Or else[405] I shall be slaine.
He grasped his sworde with mayne and mighte,
And spying a secrette part,160
He drave it into the soldan's syde,
And pierced him to the heart.
Then all the people gave a shoute,
Whan they sawe the soldan falle:
The ladye wept, and thanked Christ,165
That had reskewed her from thrall.[406]
And nowe the kinge with all his barons
Rose uppe from offe his seate,
And downe he stepped intò the listes,
That curteous knighte to greete.170
But he for payne and lacke of bloude
Was fallen intò a swounde,
And there all walteringe in his gore,
Lay lifelesse on the grounde.
Come downe, come downe, my daughter deare,175
Thou art a leeche of skille;
Farre lever[407] had I lose halfe my landes,
Than this good knighte sholde spille.[408]
Downe then steppeth that fayre ladyè,
To helpe him if she maye;180
But when she did his beavere raise,
It is my life, my lord, she sayes,
And shriekte and swound awaye.
Sir Cauline juste lifte up his eyes
When he heard his ladye crye,185
O ladye, I am thine owne true love;
For thee I wisht to dye.
Then giving her one partinge looke,
He closed his eyes in death,
Ere Christabelle, that ladye milde,190
Begane to drawe her breathe.
But when she found her comelye knighte
Indeed was dead and gone,
She layde her pale cold cheeke to his,
And thus she made her moane.195
O staye, my deare and onlye lord,
For mee thy faithfulle feere;[409]
'Tis meet that I shold followe thee,
Who hast bought my love soe deare.
Then fayntinge in a deadlye swoune,200
And with a deepe-fette[410] sighe,
That burst her gentle hearte in twayne,
Fayre Christabelle did dye.]
⁂
[The following is the original ballad from which Percy concocted his own. It is reprinted from Bishop Percy's Folio MS., ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. iii. p. 1.
Iesus: lord mickle of might,
that dyed ffor vs on the roode
to maintaine vs in all our right,
that loues true English blood.
ffor by a Knight I say my song,5
was bold & ffull hardye;
Sir Robert Briuse wold fforth to ffight
in-to Ireland ouer the sea;
& in that land dwells a king
which ouer all does beare the bell,10
& with him there dwelled a curteous Knight,
men call him Sir Cawline.
And he hath a Ladye to his daughter,
of ffashyon shee hath noe peere;
Knights & lordes they woed her both,15
trusted to haue beene her peere.
Sir Cawline loues her best of oné,
but nothing durst hee say
to discreeue his councell to noe man,
but deerlye loued this mayd.20
till itt beffell vpon a day,
great dill to him was dight;
the maydens loue remoued his mind,
to care bed went the Knight;
& one while he spread his armes him ffroe,25
& cryed soe pittyouslye
"ffor the maydens loue that I haue most minde,
this day may comfort mee,
or else ere noone I shalbe dead!"
thus can Sir Cawline say.30
when our parish masse that itt was done,
& our king was bowne to dine,
he sayes, "where is Sir Cawline
that was wont to serue me with ale and wine?"
but then answered a curteous Knight35
ffast wringinge his hands,
"Sir Cawlines sicke, & like to be dead
without and a good leedginge."
"ffeitch yee downe my daughter deere,
shee is a Leeche ffull ffine;40
I, and take you doe & the baken bread,
and eene on the wine soe red,
& looke no day[n]tinesse ffor him to deare,
for ffull loth I wold him teene."
this Ladye is gone to his chamber,45
her maydens ffollowing Nye,
"O well," shee sayth, "how doth my Lord?"
"O sicke!" againe saith hee.
"I, but rise vp wightlye, man, for shame:
neuer lye soe cowardlye here!50
itt is told in my ffathers hall,
ffor my loue you will dye."
"itt is ffor your Loue, ffayre Ladye,
that all this dill I drye.
ffor if you wold comfort me with a Kisse,55
then were I brought ffrom bale to blisse,
noe longer here wold I lye."
"alas! soe well you know, Sir Knight,
I cannott bee your peere."
"ffor some deeds of armes ffaine wold I doe60
to be your Bacheeleere."
"vpon Eldridge hill there growes a thorne
vpon the mores brodinge;
& wold you, Sir Knight, wake there all night
to day of the other Morninge?65
"ffor the Eldrige King that is mickle of Might
will examine you beforne;
& there was neuer man that bare his liffe away
since the day that I was borne."
"but I will ffor your sake, ffaire Ladye,70
walke on the bents [soe] browne,
& Ile either bring you a readye token
or Ile neuer come to you againe."
but this Ladye is gone to her Chamber,
her Maydens ffollowing bright;75
& Sir Cawlins gone to the mores soe broad,
ffor to wake there all night.
vnto midnight they Moone did rise,
he walked vp and downe,
& a lightsome bugle then heard he blow80
ouer the bents soe browne.
saies hee, "and if cryance come vntill my hart,
I am ffarr ffrom any good towne;"
& he spyed ene a litle him by,
a ffuryous King and a ffell,85
& a ladye bright his brydle led,
that seemlye itt was to see;
& soe fast hee called vpon Sir Cawline,
"Oh man, I redd thee fflye!
ffor if cryance come vntill thy hart,90
I am a-feard least thou mun dye."
he sayes, "[no] cryance comes to my hart,
nor ifaith I ffeare not thee;
ffor because thou minged not christ before,
Thee lesse me dreadeth thee."95
but Sir Cawline he shooke a speare,
the King was bold, and abode,
& the timber these 2 Children bore
soe soone in sunder slode,
ffor they tooke & 2 good swords,100
& they Layden on good Loade.
but the Elridge King was mickle of might,
& stiffly to the ground did stand;
but Sir Cawline with an aukeward stroke
he brought him ffrom his hand,105
I, & fflying ouer his head soe hye,
ffell downe of that Lay land:
& his lady stood a litle thereby,
ffast ringing her hands:
"for they maydens loue that you haue most meed,110
smyte you my Lord no more,
& heest neuer come vpon Eldrige [hill]
him to sport, gamon, or play,
& to meete noe man of middle earth,
& that liues on christs his lay."115
but he then vp, and that Eldryge King
sett him in his sadle againe,
& that Eldryge King & his Ladye
to their castle are they gone.
& hee tooke then vp & that Eldryge sword120
as hard as any fflynt,
& soe he did those ringes 5,
harder than ffyer, and brent.
ffirst he presented to the Kings daughter
they hand, & then they sword.125
"but a serrett buffett you haue him giuen,
the King & the crowne!" she sayd,
"I, but 34 stripes
comen beside the rood."
& a Gyant that was both stiffe [&] strong,130
he lope now them amonge,
& vpon his squier 5 heads he bare,
vnmackley made was hee.
& he dranke then on the Kings wine,
& hee put the cup in his sleeue;135
& all thé trembled & were wan
ffor feare he shold them greeffe.
"Ile tell thee mine Arrand, King," he sayes,
"mine errand what I doe heere;
ffor I will bren thy temples hye,140
or Ile haue thy daughter deere;
in, or else vpon, yond more soe brood
thou shalt ffind mee a ppeare."
the King he turned him round about,
(Lord, in his heart he was woe!),145
says, "is there noe Knight of the round table
this matter will vndergoe?
"I, & hee shall haue my broad Lands,
& keepe them well his liue;
I, and soe hee shall my daughter deere,150
to be his weded wiffe."
& then stood vp Sir Cawline
his owne errand ffor to say.
"ifaith, I wold to god, Sir," sayd Sir Cawline,
"that Soldan I will assay.155
"goe, ffeitch me downe my Eldrige sword,
ffor I woone itt att [a] ffray."
"but away, away!" sayd the hend Soldan,
"thou tarryest mee here all day!"
but the hend Soldan and Sir Cawline160
thé ffought a summers day:
now has hee slaine that hend Soldan,
& brought his 5 heads away.
& the King has betaken him his broade lands
& all his venison.165
"but take you too & your Lands [soe] broad,
& brooke them well your liffe,
ffor you promised mee your daughter deere
to be my weded wiffe."
"now by my ffaith," then sayes our King,170
"ffor that wee will not striffe;
ffor thou shalt haue my daughter dere
to be thy weded wiffe."
the other morninge Sir Cawline rose
by the dawning of the day,175
& vntill a garden did he goe
his Mattins ffor to say;
& that bespyed a ffalse steward—
a shames death that he might dye!—
& he lett a lyon out of a bande,180
Sir Cawline ffor to teare;
& he had noe wepon him vpon,
nor noe wepon did weare.
but hee tooke then his Mantle of greene,
into the Lyons mouth itt thrust;185
he held the Lyon soe sore to the wall
till the Lyons hart did burst.
& the watchmen cryed vpon the walls
& sayd, "Sir Cawlines slaine!
and with a beast is not ffull litle,190
a Lyon of Mickle mayne."
then the Kings daughter shee ffell downe,
"for peerlesse is my payne!"
"O peace, my Lady!" sayes Sir Cawline,
"I haue bought thy loue ffull deere.195
O peace, my Lady!" sayes Sir Cawline,
"peace, Lady, ffor I am heere!"
then he did marry this Kings daughter
with gold & siluer bright,
& 15 sonnes this Ladye beere200
to Sir Cawline the Knight.
ffins.]