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 minstrel), 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 complete 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. 2, 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 tournament (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 thre 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 tournaments Hastiludia Mensa Rotunda. 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* And See Northern Antiquities, &c. vol. i. p. 318, vol. ii. p. 100. Mémoires de la Chevalerie, tom. i. p. 44. even so late as the time of Q. Elizabeth, it is men- THE FIRST PART. IN Ireland, ferr over the sea, The kinge had a ladye to his daughter Syr Cauline loveth her best of all, Ne descreeve his counsayl to no man, Till on a daye it so beffell, Great dill to him was dight; One while he spred his armes him fro, One while he spred them nye : And whan our parish-masse was done, He Then aunswerde him a courteous knighte, Fetche me downe my daughter deere, Goe take him doughe, and the baken bread, 10 18 20 Ile fight for thee with his grimme soldàn, Thoughe he be unmacklye made. He wan the prize eche daye. His acton it was all of blacke, His hewberke, 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 past In fentes of chivalrye, When lo upon the fourth morninge A sorrowfulle sight they see. A hugve giaunt stiffe and starke, Two goggling even like fire farden, Before him came a dwarffe full lowe, And at his backe five heads he bare, All wan and pale of blee.. Sir, quoth the dwarffe, and louted lowe, Behold that lend Soldain! Behold these heads I beare with me! The Eldridge knight is his own cousine, But yette he will appease his wrath And but thou yeelde him that fayre mayd, Thy head, syr king, must goe with mee; Or else within these lists soe broad 65 75 And sayd, Awaye, awaye : I sweare, as I am the hend soldàn, Thou lettest me here all daye. The king he turned him round aboute, And in his heart was woe: 100 All recklesse of the pain: Is there never a knighte of my round table, This matter will undergoe! Quoth hee, But heaven be now my speede, Or else I shall be slaine. |