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.]
⁂
