O'er head and ears he plunged in,

The bottom faire he sounded;

Then rising up, he cried amain,

Help, helpe, or else I'm drownded!

Now, fare-you-well, sir knight, adieu !

You see what comes of fooling: That is the fittest place for you; Your courage wanted cooling.

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Ere many days, in her fathers park,

Just at the close of eve-a,

Again she met with her angry sparke;

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Which made this lady grieve-a.

False lady, here thou'rt in my powre,
And no one now can hear thee:
And thou shalt sorely rue the hour,

That e'er thou dar'dst to jeer me.

I pray, sir knight, be not so warm
With a young silly maid-a:

I vow and swear I thought no harm,
'Twas a gentle jest I playd-a.

A gentle jest, in soothe, he cryd,

To tumble me in and leave me ! What if I had in the river dy'd?

That fetch will not deceive me.

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Once more I'll pardon thee this day,

Tho' injur'd out of measure;

But then prepare without delay

To yield thee to my pleasure.

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Well then, if I must grant your suit,

Yet think of your boots and spurs, sir:

Let me pull off both spur and boot,

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Or else you cannot stir, sir.

He set him down upon the grass,

And begg'd her kind assistance;

Now, smiling thought this lovely lass,
I'll make you keep your distance.

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Then pulling off his boots half-way;
Sir knight, now I'm your betters:
You shall not make of me your prey;
Sit there like a knave in fetters.

The knight when she had served soe,

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He fretted, fum'd, and grumbled: For he could neither stand nor goe, But like a cripple tumbled.

Farewell, sir knight, the clock strikes ten,

Yet do not move nor stir, sir:

I'll send you my father's serving men,
To pull off your boots and spurs, sir.

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This merry jest you must excuse,

You are but a stingless nettle :

You'd never have stood for boots or shoes, 135 Had you been a man of mettle.

All night in grievous rage he lay,

Rolling upon the plain-a;

Next morning a shepherd past that way,

Who set him right again-a.

Then mounting upon his steed so tall,

By hill and dale he swore-a:

I'll ride at once to her father's hall;

She shall escape no more-a.

I'll take her father by the beard,

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I'll challenge all her kindred;

Each dastard soul shall stand affeard;

My wrath shall no more be hindred.

He rode unto her father's house,

Which every side was moated :

The lady heard his furious vows,
And all his vengeance noted.

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Thought shee, sir knight, to quench your rage,
Once more I will endeavour :
This water shall your fury 'swage,

Or else it shall burn for ever.

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The bridge is drawn, the gate is barr'd,

My father he has the keys, sir; But I have for my love prepar'd A shorter way and easier.

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Over the moate I've laid a plank

Full seventeen feet in measure :

Then step a-cross to the other bank,
And there we'll take our pleasure.

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These words she had no sooner spoke,
But strait he came tripping over:

The plank was saw 'd, it snapping broke ;

And sous'd the unhappy lover.

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XVI.

Why so Pale?

From Sir John Suckling's Poems. This sprightly knight was born in 1613, and cut off by a fever about the 29th year of his age. See above, Song ix. of this

Book.

WHY SO pale and wan, fond lover?

Prethee, why so pale?

Will, when looking well can't move her,

Looking ill prevail?

Prethee why so pale?

Why so dull and mute, young sinner?

Prethee why so mute?

Will, when speaking well can't win her,

Saying nothing doe 't?

Prethee why so mute?

Quit, quit for shame; this will not move,

This cannot take her;

If of herself she will not love,

Nothing can make her.

The devil take her!

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