The knighte he leapt upon his feete,

All reckleffe of the pain:

Quoth hee, But heaven be now my speede,

Or elfe I fhall be flaine.

He grafped his fworde with mayne and mighte,

And spying a fecrette part,

He drave it into the foldan's fyde,

And pierced him to the heart.

Then all the people gave a fhoute,
Whan they fawe the foldan falle:
The ladye wept, and thanked Chrift,

That had reskewed her from thrall.

And nowe the kinge with all his barons
Rofe uppe from offe his feate,

And downe he stepped intò the liftes,
That curteous knighte to greete.

But he for payne and lacke of bloude

Was fallen intò a swounde,

And there all walteringe in his gore,

Lay lifeleffe on the grounde.

155

160

165

170

Come downe, come downe, my daughter deare, 175

Thou art a leeche of skille;

Farre lever had I lofe halfe my landes,
Than this good knighte fholde spille.

E 4

Downe

Downe then fteppeth that fayre ladyè,

To helpe him if she maye;
But when she did his beavere raise,
It is my life, my lord, fhe fayes,
And shriekte and swound awaye.

Sir Cauline jufte lifte up his eyes

When he heard his ladye crye,

O ladye, I am thine owne true love.
For thee I wisht to dye.

Then giving her one partinge looke,

He clofed his eyes in death,

180

185

Ere Chriftabelle, that ladye milde,
Begane to drawe her breathe.

190

But when the found her comelye knighte

Indeed was dead and gone,

She layde her pale cold cheeke to his,
And thus fhe made her moane.

195

O ftaye, my deare and onlye lord,

;

For mee thy faithfulle feere 'Tis meet that I fhold followe thee, Who haft bought my love foe deare.

Then fayntinge in a deadlye fwoune,
And with a deepe-fette fighe,
That burft her gentle hearte in twayne,
Fayre Christabelle did dye.

200

V. EDWARD,

V.

EDWARD, EDWARD.

A SCOTTISH BALLAD.

From a MS. copy tranfmitted from Scotland.

UHY dois zour brand fae drap wi' bluid,
JHY

Q

Edward, Edward ?

Quhy dois zour brand fae drap wi' bluid?

And quhy fae fad gang zee, O?

O, I hae killed my hauke fae guid,

Mither, mither:

O, I hae killed

my hauke fae guid:

And I had nae mair bot hee, O.

Zour haukis bluid was nevir fae reid,

Edward, Edward. Zour haukis bluid was nevir fae reid;

10

O, I hae killed my reid-roan fteid,

O, I hae killed my reid-roan fteid,

My deir fon I tell the, O.

Mither, mither:

That erft was fae fair and frie, O.

Zour fteid was auld, and ze hae gat mair,

15

Edward, Edward:

Zour

Zour fteid was auld, and ze hae gat mair,

Sum other dule ze drie, O.

Mither, mither

O, I hae killed my fadir deir,

O, I hae killed my fadir deir,

Alas! and wae is mee, O!

20

And quhatten penance wul ze drie for that,
Edward, Edward?

25

And quhatten penance will ze drie for that?

My deir fon, now tell me, O.

Ile fet my feit in zonder boat,

And quhat wul ze doe wi' zour towirs and zour ha',

Edward, Edward?

And quhat wul ze doe wi' zour towirs and zour ha', 35 That were fae fair to fee, O ?

Ile let thame ftand til they doun fa',

Mither, mither:

Ile let thame ftand till they doun fa',

For here nevir mair maun I bee, O.

40

And quhat wul ze leive to zour bairns and zour wife,

Edward, Edward ?

And

And quhat wul ze leive to zour bairns and your wife,
Quhan ze gang ovir the fea, O?

The warldis room, late them beg throw life,
Mither, mither:

The warldis room, let them beg throw life,

For thame nevir mair wul I fee, O.

And quhat wul ze leive to zour ain mither deir,

Edward, Edward ?

And quhat wul ze leive to zour ain mither deir ?
My deir fon, now tell mee, O.

The curfe of hell frae me fall ze beir,

Mither, mither:

The curfe of hell frae me fall ze beir,

Sic counfeils ze gave to me, O.

45

50

55

VI.

KING EST MERE.

This old Romantic Legend, (which is given from two copies, one of them in the Editor's folio MS.) bears marks of great antiquity, and perhaps ought to have taken place of any in this volume. It should feem to have been written while a great part of Spain was in the hands of the Saracens or Moors: whofe empire there was not fully extinguished before the year 1491. The Mahometans are Spoken of in v. 49, &c. juft in the fame terms as in all other old romances. The author of the ancient Legend of SIR