This fight did last from break of day
Till fetting of the fun;

For when they rung the evening-bell
The battle fcarce was done.

With the carl Percy there was flain
Sir John of Ogerton,
Sir Robert Ratcliffe, and fir John,
Sir James that bold baron :

And with fir George, and good fir James,
Both knights of good account,
Good fir Ralph Raby there was flain,
Whofe prowess did furmount.
For Witherington needs muft I wail,
As one in doleful dumps;
For, when his legs were fmitten off,
He fought upon his stumps.

And with earl Douglas there was flain
Sir Hugh Montgomery;

Sir Charles Currèl, that from the field
One foot would never fly;

Sir Charles Murrèl of Ratcliffe too,
His fifter's fon was he;
Sir David Lamb, fo well efteem'd,
Yet faved could not be.

And the lord Maxwell, in like wife,
Did with earl Douglas die :
Of twenty hundred Scottish spears,
Scarce fifty-five did fly.

Of fifteen hundred Englishmen
Went home but fifty-three:

The reft were flain in Chevy-Chafe,
Under the green-wood tree.

Next day did many widows come,
Their husbands to bewail;

They wash'd their wounds in brinish tears,
But all would not prevail.

Their bodies, bath'd in purple blood,
They bore with them away;
They kifs'd them dead a thousand times
When they were clad in clay.
This news was brought to Edinburgh,
Where Scotland's king did reign,
That brave earl Douglas fuddenly
Was with an arrow flain.

O heavy news! king James did fay;
Scotland can witness be,

I have not any captain more
Of fuch account as he.

Like tidings to king Henry came,
Within as fhort a space,
That Percy of Northumberland
Was flain in Chevy-Chafe.
Now God be with him, faid our king,
Sith 'twill no better be;

I truft I have within my realm
Five hundred as good as he.
Yet fhall not Scot nor Scotland fay,
But I will vengeance take;

And be revenged on them all
For brave lord Percy's fake.

There is fomething peculiar in the metre of this eld ballad: it is not unusual to meet with redundant ftanzas of fix lines; but the occafional intertion of a double third or fourth line, as ver. 31, 44, &c. is an irregularity I do not remember to have feca elsewhere.

It may be proper to inform the reader before he comes to Pt. 2. ver. 110, 111, that the ROUND TABLE was not peculiar to the reign of King Arthur, but was common in all the ages of Chivalry. The proclaiming a great tournament (probably with fome peculiar folemnities) 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 three fons' "by King Edward I. he, at his own cofts, caused 66 a tourneament to be held at Kenilworth, where he fumptuously entertained an hundred knights, and as many ladies, for three days; the like where of "was never before in England; and there began "the ROUND TABLE (fo called by reafon that the

place wherein they practifed those feats was "environed with a ftrong wall made in a round "form) and upon the fourth day, the golden lion, "in fign 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 jufts and tournaments Haftiludia Merfæ Rotunde.

As to what will be obferved in this ballad of the art of healing being practifed by a young princefs; it is no more than what is ufual in all the old remances, 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 exercife the art of furgery. In the Northern Chronicles we always find the young damfels ftanching the wounds of their lovers, and the wives thofe of their hufbands. And even fo late as the time of Quees Elizabeth, it is mentioned among the accomplishments of the ladies of her court, that the "eldent "of them are SKILFUL IN SURGERY." See Harrifon's Defcription of England, prefixed to Hollingfhed's Chronicle, &c.

The kinge had a lady to his daughter,

In fathyon the hath no peere;
And princely wightes that ladye wooed,
To be theyr wedded feere.

Syr Cauline loveth her beft of all,
But nothing durft he saye;

Ne defcreeve his counfayl to no man,
But deerlye he lovde this may.
Till on a daye it fo beffell,

Great dill to him was dight;
The maydens love removde his mynɛ,
To care-bed went the knighte.

One while he fpred his arms him fro,

One while he fpred them nye;
And aye! but I winne that ladyes love,
For dole now I mun dye.
And when our parish-maffe was done,
Our kinge was bowne to dyne:
He fayes, Where is fyr Cauline,

That is wont to ferve the wyne ?

Then aunfwerde him a courteous knighte,
And faft his handes gan wringe:
Sir Cauline is fick, and like to dye
Without a good leechinge.

Fetche me downe my daughter deere,

She is a leeche fulle fine :

Goe take him doughe, and the baken bread, And ferve him with the wyne foe red;

Lothe I were him to tine.

Fair Christabelle to his chaumber goes,
Her maydens followyng nye:
O well, the fayth, how doth my lord?
O ficke, thou fayre ladyè.

Nowe ryfe up wightlye, man, for sham

Never lye foe cowardlee;
For it is told in my father's halle,
You dye for love of mee.

Fayre ladye, it is for your love

That all this dill I drye:

For if you wold comfort me with a kiffe,
Then were I brought from bale to blifle,
No longer would Į lye.

Sir knighte, my father is a kinge,
I am his onlye heire;

Alas! and well you knowe, fyr knighte,
I never can be youre feere.

O ladye, thou art a kinges daughter,
And I am not thy peere,

But let me doe fome deedes of armes
To be youre bacheleere.

Some deeds of armes if thou wilt doe,
My bacheleere to be,

(But ever and aye my heart would rue,
(Giff harm fhould happe to thee)

Upon Eldridge hill there groweth a thorne, Upon the mores brodinge;

And dare ye, fyr knighte, wake there all nighte, Untill the fayre morninge?

For the Eldridge knighte, fo mickle of mighte, Will examine you beforne;

And never man bare life awaye,

But he did him fcath and scorne.

That knighte he is a foul paynìm,
And large of limb and bone;
And but if heaven may be thy speede,
Thy life it is but gone.

Nowe on the Eldridge hilles Ile walke,
For thy fake, fair ladie;
And Ile either bring you a ready tokèn,
Or Ile never more you fee.

The lady is gone to her own chaumbère,
Her maydens following bright:
Syr Cauline lope from care-bed foone,
And to the Eldridge hills is gone,

For to wake there all night.

Unto midnight, that the moone did rise,
He walked up and downe;

Then a lightfome bugle heard he blowe
Over the bents foe browne.

Quoth hee, If cryance come till my heart,
I am far from any good towne.

And foone he spyde on the mores so broad
A furyous wight and fell;

A ladye bright his brydle led,
Clad in a fayre kyrtèll:

And foe faft he called on fyr Cauline,
O man, I rede thee flye,
For but if cryance come till thy heart,
I weene but thou mun dye.

He fayth, No cryance comes till my heart,
Nor, in fayth, I wyll not flee;
For, caufe thou minged not Chrift before,
The lefs me dreadeth thee.

The Eldridge knighte he pricked his fteed;
Syr Cauline bold abode :

Then either fhooke his truftye fpeare,
And the timber these two children bare
So foon in funder flode.

Then took they out theyr two good fwordes,
And layden on full fafte,

Till helme and hawberke, mail and fheelde,
They all were well-nye braft.

The Eldridge knight was mickle of might,
And ftiffe in ftower did ftande ;

But fyr Cauline with a backward stroke
He fmote off his right hand;

That foone he with paine and lacke of bloud
Fell downe on that lay-land.

Knights.

Thea

Then up fyr Cauline lift his brande

All over his head fo hye:

And here I fweare by the holy roode,
Nowe, caytiffe, thou shalt dye.
Then up and came that ladye brighte,
Fafte wringing of her hande :
For the maydens love, that moft you love,
Withhold that deadlye brande:

For the maydens love, that moft you love,
Now fmyte no more I praye;
And ave whatever thou wilt, my lord,
He fhall thy hefts obaye.

Now fweare to mee, thou Eldridge knighte,
And here on this lay-land,

That thou wilt believe on Chrift his laye, And therto plight thy hand :

And that thou never on Eldridge come

To fporte, gamon, or playe;
And that thou here give up thy armes
Until thy dying day.

The Eldridge knighte gave up his armes
With many a forrowfulle fighe;
And fware to obey fyr Caulines heft,
Till the tyme that he fhold dye.
And he then up and the Eldridge knighte
Sett him in his faddle anone,
And the Eldridge knighte and his ladye
To theyr caftle are they gone.
Then he tooke up the bloudy hand,
That was fo large of bone,
And on it he founde five ringes of gold
Of knightes that had been flone.
Then he tooke
up the Eldridge fworde,
As hard as any flint;
And he took off thofe ringès five
As bright as fyre and brent.

Home then pricked fyr Cauline
As light as leafe on tree :

F-wys he neither fint ne blanne,
Till he his ladye fce.

Then downe he knelt upon his knee.
Before that lady gay:

ladye, I have been on the Eldridge hills:
Thefe tokens I bring away.

Now welcome, welcome, fyr Cauline,

Thrice welcome unto mee,

For now I perceive thou art a true knighte,
Of valour bold and free..

O Indye, I am thy own true knighte,
Thy hefts for to obaye:

And mought I hope to winne thy love!-
Ne more his tonge colde fay.

The ladye blufhed fcarlette redde,
And fette a gentill fighe:

Alas! fyr knighte, how may this bee,
For my degree's for highe?

But fith thou haft hight, thou comely youth,
To be my batchilere,

Ile promife if thee I may not wedde I will have none other fere.

Then thee held forthe her lilly-white hand Towards that knighte so free:

He gave to it one gentill kiffe,

His heart was brought from bale to bliffe,
The teares fterte from his ee.

But keep my counfayl, fyr Cauline,
Ne let no man it knowe;
For and ever my father holde it ken,
I wot he wolde us floe.

From that day forthe that ladye fayre
Lovde fyr Cauline the knighte:
From that dave forthe he only joyde
Whan thee was in his fight.

Part the Second.

EVERYE white will have its blacke,
And every fweete its fowre:
This found the ladye Chriftabelle
In an untimely howre.

For fo it befelle as fyr Cauline

Was with that ladye faire,
The kinge her father walked forthe
To take the
evenyng aire :
And into the arboure as he went

To reft his wearye feet,

He found his daughter and fyr Cauline
There fette in daliaunce fweet.

The kinge hee fterted forthe, i-wys,
And an angrye man was hee:
Nowe, traytoure, thou thalt hange or drawe
And rewe fall thy ladie,

Then forthe fyr Cauline he was ledde,
And throwne in dungeon deepe;

And the ladye into a towre fo bye,
There left to wayle and weepe.

The queene fhe was fyr Caulines friend,
And to the kinge faid the:

I

pray you fave fyr Caulines life,

And let him banisht bee.

Now, dame, that traitor fhall be fent

Acrofs the falt fea fome:

But here I will make with thee a band,
If ever he come within this land,
A foule deathe is his doome.
All woe-begone was that gentil knight
To parte from his ladyè;
And many a time he fighed fore,

And caft a wiftfulle eye:
Faire Chriftabelle, from thee to parte,
Farre lever had I dye.

Faire Christabelle, that ladye brighte,

Was had forthe of the towre:
But ever thee droopeth in her minde;
As, nipt by an ungentle winde,
Doth foine faire lillye flowre.

And ever thee doth lament and weepe
To tint her lover foc;

Syr Cauline, thou little think'ft on mee,
But I will fill be true,

Manye a kinge, and manye a duke,
And lords of high degree,
Did fue to that fayre ladye of love;
But never the wolde them nes.

When many a daye was paft and gone,
Ne comforte the colde finde,
The kinge proclaimed a tourneament,
To cheere his daughters mind:

And there came lords, and there came knightes,
Fio manye a farre countryè,

To break a fpere for theyr ladyes love
Before that faire ladyè.

And many a ladye there was sette
In purple and in palle;

But faire Chriftabelle foe woe-begone
Was the fayreft of them all.

Then manye a knighte was mickle of might
Before his ladye gaye:

But a ftranger wight, whom no man knewe,
He wan the prize eche daye.

His acton it was all of blacke,

His hewberke and his fheelde,

Ne noe man wift whence he did come,
Ne noe man knewe where he did gone,

When they came out the feelde.
And now three days were preftlye palt
In feates of chivalrye,

When lo upon the fourth morninge
A forrow fulle fight they fee,
A hugye giaunt stiffe and starke,
All foule of limbe and lere;
Two goggling eyen like fire farden,
A mouthe from eare to eare.
Before him came a dwarffe full lowe,
That waited on his knee,

And at his backe five heads he bare,
All wan and pale of blee.

Sir, quoth the dwarffe, and louted lowe,
Behold that hend Soldàin!

Behold thefe heads I bear with me!

They are kings which he hath flain.
The Eldridge knighte is his own cousine,
Whom a knight of thine hath fhent :
And hee is come to avenge his wrong;
And to thee, all thy knightes among,
Defiance here hath fent.

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.
Thy head, fyr king, muft goe with mee;
Or elfe thy daughter deere;

Or else within thefe lifts foe broad
Thou must find him a peere.
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 undergo ?

Is there never a knighte amongst yee all
Will fight for my daughter and mee?
Whoever will fight you grimme foldan,
Right faire his meede fhall be ;
For hee fhall have my broad lay-lands;
And of my crowne be heyre;
And he shall winne fayre Chriftabelle,
To be his wedded fere.

But every knighte of his round tablè
Did ftand both fill and pale;

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

All woe-begone was that fayre ladyè,
When the fawe no helpe was nye:
She caft her thought on her own true-love,
And the teares gufat from her eye.
Up then fterte the stranger knighte,
Sayd, Ladye, be not affrayd;

Ile fight for thee with this grimme foldan,
Thoughe he be unmacklye made.

And if thou wilt lend me the Eldridge fworde
That lyeth within thy bowre,

I trufte in Chrifte for to flay this fiende,

Thoughe he be ftiffe in flowre.

Goe fetch him downe the Eldridge fworde,
The kinge he cryde, with speede :
Nowe heaven aflift thee, courteous knighte;
My daughter is thy meede.

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

I fweare, as I am the hend foldàn,
Thou letteft me here all daye.
Then forth the ftranger knighte he came
In his blacke armoure dight:
The ladve fighed a gentle tighe,

"That this were my true knighte!" And nowe the gyaunt and knighte be mett Within the lifts fo broad:

And now with fwordes fo tharpe of steele,
They gan to lay on load.

The foldan ftrucke the knighte a stroke,
That made him reele afyde:
Then woe-begone was that fayre ladyè,
And thrice the deeply fighde.
The foldan ftrucke a second stroke,

And made the bloude to flowe:
All pale and wan was that ladye fayre,
And thrice the wept for woe.

The foldan ftrucke a third fell ftroke,

Which brought the knighte on his knee:
Sad forrow pierced that ladyes heart,

And the thrickt loud frickings three.
The knighte he leapt upon his feete,
All reckleffe of the paine;
Quoth he, But heaven be now my speede,
Or elfe I fhall be flaine.

He

He grafped his fword with mayne and mighte,
And fpying a fecrette part,
He drave it into the foldan's fyde;
And pierced him to the heart.
Then all the people gave a fhoute,
When they fawe the foldan falle :
The ladye wept, and thanked Chrift,

That had refkewed her from thrall.
And nowe the kinge with all his barons
Rofe uppe from off his seate,
And downe he stepped intò the liftes,
That curteous knighte to greete.
But he for payne and lacke of bloude
Was fallen into a swounde,

And there all waltering in his gore,

Lay lifeleffe on the grounde.

onfet. He fuffered no woman to be oppreffed, violated, or otherwife molefted: poore mens goods he fpared, abundantlie relieving them with that, which by theft he got from abbeys and the houfes of rich earles: whom Maior (the hiftorian) blameth for his rapine and theft, but of all theeves he affirmeth him to be the prince and the most gentle theefe." Stowe's Annals, p. 159.

WHAN fhaws beene theene, and shraddes fulf fayre,

And leaves both large and longe,
Itt's merrye walkyng in the fayre forrest
To heare the small birdes fonge.

The woodweele fang, and wold not cease,
Sitting upon the spraye,

Thou art a lecche of skille;
Farre lever had I lose half my landes,
Than this good knightc fholde fpille.
Downe then steppeth that fayre ladyè,
To helpe him if the maye;
But when the did his beavere raise,
It is my life, my lord, the fayes,

And fhriekte and fwound 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 wifht to dye.

Then giving her one partinge looke,
He clofed his eyes in death,
Ere Christabelle, that ladye milde,
Began to draw her breathe.

But when the founde her comelye knighte
Indeed was dead and gone,
She layd her pale cold checke to his,
And thus the made her moane.
Oftaye, my deare and onlye lord,
For mee thy faithful feere;
Tis meet that I fhold followe thee,
Who haft bought my love foe deare.
Then fayntinge in a deadlye fwoune,
And with a deep-fette fighe,
That burft her gentle heart in twayne,
Fayre Christabelle did dye.

In the greenwood where he lay.
Now by my faye, faid jollye Robin,
A fweaven I had this night;

I dreamt me of tow wighty yemen,
That faft with me gan fight.
Methought they did me beat and binde,
And tooke my bowe me froe;

If I be Robin alive in this lande,
Ile be wroken on them towe.
Sweavens are fwift, fayd Lyttle John,

As the wind blowes over the hill;
For iff it be never fo loude this night,
To-morrow it may be still.

Buske yee, bowne yee, my merry men all,
And John fhall goe with mee,
For Ile goe fecke yond wighty yeomen,
In greenwood where they bee.
Then they caft on theyr gownes of

grenes
And tooke theyr bowes cach one;
And they away to the green forrest
A fhooting forth are gone;

Untill they came to the merry greenwood,
Where they had gladdeft to bee,
There they were ware of a wight yeoman,
That leaned gainst a tree.

A fworde and a dagger he wore by his fide,
Of manye a inan the bane;
And he was clad in his eapull hyde
Top and tayll and mayne.
Stand ftill. mafter, quoth Lyttle John,
Under this tree fo green,
And I will go to yond wight yeomàn

To know what hee doth meane.

Ah! John, by me thou fetteft noe fto:e,
And that I farley finde :
How often fend I my men before,
And tarry myfelfe behinde ?

And a man but heare him fpeake;