But yette he will appease his wrath
Thy daughters love to winne :

And but thou yeelde him that fayre mayd,
Thy halls and towers must brenne.1

Thy head, syr king, must goe with mee;
Ör else thy daughter deere;

Or else within these lists soe broad
Thou must finde him a peere.]2

The king he turned him round aboute,

And in his heart was woe:

Is there never a knighte of my round table,
This matter will undergoe?

[Is there never a knighte amongst yee all
Will fight for my daughter and mee?
Whoever will fight yon grimme soldàn,
Right fair his meede shall bee.

For hee shall have my broad lay-lands,
And of my crowne be heyre;

And he shall winne fayre Christabelle
To be his wedded fere.

But every knighte of his round table
Did stand both still and pale ;

For whenever they lookt on the grim soldàn,
It made their hearts to quail.

All woe-begone was that fayre ladyè,
When she sawe no helpe was nye :
She cast her thought on her owne true-love,
And the teares gusht from her eye.
Up then sterte the stranger knighte,
Sayd, Ladye, be not affrayd:

Ile fight for thee with this grimme soldàn,
Thoughe he be unmacklye3 made.

[1 burn.

2 equal.

3

mis-shapen.]

And if thou wilt lend me the Eldridge sworde,

That lyeth within thy bowre,

I truste in Christe for to slay this fiende
Thoughe he be stiff in stowre.

Goe fetch him downe the Eldridge sworde,
The kinge he cryde, with speede:

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Nowe heaven assist thee, courteous knighte;
My daughter is thy meede.'

130

The gyaunt he stepped into the lists,
And sayd, Awaye, awaye:

I sweare, as I am the hend soldàn,
Thou lettest me here all daye.

2

Then forthe the stranger knight he came
In his blacke armoure dight:

The ladye sighed a gentle sighe,
"That this were my true knighte!"

And nowe the gyaunt and knighte be mett
Within the lists soe broad;

And now with swordes soe sharpe of steele,
They gan to lay on load."

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140

The soldan strucke the knighte a stroke,
That made him reele asyde ;

Then woe-begone was that fayre ladyè,
And thrice she deeply sighde.

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The soldan strucke a second stroke,
And made the bloude to flowe:
All pale and wan was that ladye fayre,
And thrice she wept for woe.

The soldan strucke a third fell stroke,
Which brought the knighte on his knee:
Sad sorrow pierced that ladyes heart,
And she shriekt loud shriekings three.

[1 reward.

2 detainest.

3 give blows.]

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The knighte he leapt upon his feete,

All recklesse of the pain:

Quoth hee, But1 heaven be now my speede,

Or else I shall be slaine.

He grasped his sworde with mayne

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and mighte,

160

And spying a secrette part,

He drave it into the soldan's syde,
And pierced him to the heart.

Then all the people gave a shoute,
Whan they sawe the soldan falle:
The ladye wept, and thanked Christ,

That had reskewed her from thrall.'

And nowe the kinge with all his barons
Rose uppe from offe his seate,
And downe he stepped intò the listes,
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 lifelesse on the grounde.

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170

Come downe, come downe, my daughter deare, 175

Thou art a leeche of skille;

Farre lever had I lose halfe my landes,
Than this good knighte sholde spille."
Downe then steppeth that fayre ladyè,
To helpe him if she maye;
But when she did his beavere raise,
It is my life, my lord, she sayes,
And shriekte and swound awayę.

Sir Cauline juste lifte up his eyes
When he heard his ladye crye,

[1 unless.

180

185

or else," redundant from a misunderstanding of the word but.

' captivity.

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,
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.

1

O staye, my deare and onlye lord,
For mee thy faithfulle feere;
'Tis meet that I shold followe thee,
Who hast bought my love soe deare.

Then fayntinge in a deadlye swoune,
And with a deepe-fette sighe,

That burst her gentle hearte in twayne,
Fayre Christabelle did dye.]

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195

800

HE following is the original ballad from which Percy concocted his own. It is reprinted from Bishop Percy's Folio MS., ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. iii. p. 1.

Iesus: lord mickle of might,

that dyed ffor vs on the roode

to maintaine vs in all our right,

that loues true English blood.

ffor by a Knight I say my song,
was bold & ffull hardye;

Sir Robert Briuse wold fforth to ffight

in-to Ireland ouer the sea;

[1 mate.

2 deep-drawn.]

& in that land dwells a king

which ouer all does beare the bell,

& with him there dwelled a curteous Knight, men call him Sir Cawline.

And he hath a Ladye to his daughter,

of ffashyon shee hath noe peere ; Knights & lordes they woed her both, trusted to haue beene her

peere.

Sir Cawline loues her best of oné,

but nothing durst hee say

to discreeue his councell to noe man, but deerlye loued this mayd.

till itt beffell vpon a day,

great dill to him was dight;

the maydens loue remoued his mind,

to care bed went the Knight;

& one while he spread his armes him ffroe,

& cryed soe pittyouslye

"ffor the maydens loue that I haue most minde,

he sayes,

"where is Sir Cawline

that was wont to serue me with ale and wine?

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but then answered a curteous Knight

ffast wringinge his hands,

"Sir Cawlines sicke, & like to be dead without and a good leedginge."

"ffeitch yee downe my daughter deere, shee is a Leeche ffull ffine;

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I, and take you doe & the baken bread, and eene on the wine soe red,

& looke no day[n]tinesse ffor him to deare, for ffull loth I wold him teene."

her maydens ffollowing Nye,

this Ladye is gone to his chamber,

"O well," shee sayth, "how doth my Lord?” "O sicke!" againe saith hee.

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