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.
Syr Cauline loveth her best of all,
But nothing durst he saye,10
Ne descreeve his counsayl to no man,
But deerlye he lovde this may.
Till on a daye it so beffell
Great dill to him was dight;
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,
And whan our parish-masse was done,
Our kinge was bowne 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:
"Syr Cauline is sicke, and like to dye,
Without a good leechinge."
"Fetche me downe my daughter deere,
She is a leeche fulle fine;30
Goe take him doughe and the baken bread,
And serve him with the wyne soe red:
Lothe I were him to tine."
Fair Christabelle to his chaumber goes,
Her maydens followyng nye:35
"O well," she sayth, "how doth my lord?"
"O sicke, thou fayr ladye."
"Nowe ryse up wightlye, man, for shame,
Never lye soe cowardlee;
For it is told in my fathers halle40
You dye for love of mee."