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]