5 And one while he spread his armes him ffroe,
And 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.
6 When our parish masse that itt was done,
And our king was bowne to dine,
He sayes, Where is Sir Cawline,
That was wont to serue me with ale and wine?
7 But then answered a curteous knight,
Ffast his hands wringinge:
'Sir Cawline's sicke, and like to be dead
Without and a good leedginge.'
8 'Ffeitch yee downe my daughter deere,
Shee is a leeche ffull ffine;
I, and take you doe and the baken bread,
And drinke he on the wine soe red,
And looke no daynti is ffor him to deare,
For ffull loth I wold him tine.'
9 This ladye is gone to his chamber,
Her maydens ffollowing nye;
'O well,' shee sayth, 'how doth my lord?'
'O sicke!' againe saith hee.
10 'I, but rise vp wightlye, man, for shame!
Neuer lye here soe cowardlye!
Itt is told in my ffathers hall,
Ffor my loue you will dye.'
11 'Itt is ffor your loue, ffayre ladye,
That all this dill I drye;
Ffor if you wold comfort me with a kisse,
Then were I brought ffrom bale to blisse,
Noe longer here wold I lye.'
12 'Alas! soe well you know, Sir knight,'
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
13 . . . . . . .
I cannott bee your peere:
'Ffor some deeds of armes ffaine wold I doe,
To be your bacheeleere.'
14 'Vpon Eldrige Hill there growes a thorne,
Vpon the mores brodinge;
And wold you, sir knight, wake there all night
To day of the other morninge?