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beautiful lines which contain a reflection so like this of our poet. "everye white," &c. viz.

"But as extremes are short of ili and good,

And tides at highest mark regorge their flood;
So Fate, that could no more improve their joy,
Took a malicious pleasure to destroy.
Tancred, who fondly loved," &c.

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"Nowe, traytoure, thou shalt hange or drawe,

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And rewe shall thy ladiè."

Then forthe Syr Cauline he was ledde,

And throwne in dungeon deepe:

And the ladye into a towre so hye,

There left to wayle and weepe.

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The queene she was Syr Caulines friend,
And to the kinge sayd shee:

"I praye you save Syr Caulines life,

And let him banisht bee."

"Now, dame, that traitor shall be sent
Across the salt sea fome:

But here I will make thee a band,

If ever he come within this land,
A foule deathe is his doome."

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All woe-begone was that gentil knight

To parte from his ladyè;

And many a time he sighed sore,
And cast a wistfulle eye:

"Faire Christabelle, from thee to parte,
Farre lever had I dye."

Faire Christabelle, that ladye bright,

Was had forthe of the towre;

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But ever shee droopeth in her minde,
As, nipt by an ungentle winde,
Doth some faire lillye flowre.

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And ever shee doth lament and weepe

To tint her lover soe:

"Syr Cauline, thou little think'st on mee, But I will still be true."

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And there came lords, and there came knights,

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Before his ladye gaye;

But a stranger wight, whom no man knewe,
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 out the feelde.
And now three days were prestlye past
In feates of chivalrye,

When lo, upon the fourth morninge,
A sorrowfulle sight they see :

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;

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And at his backe five heads he bare,

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All wan and pale of blee.

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Sir," quoth the dwarffe, and louted lowe,

"Behold that hend Soldàin !

Behold these heads I beare with me!

They are kings which he hath slain.

"The Eldridge knight is his own cousìne,
Whom a knight of thine hath shent :
And hee is come to avenge his wrong:
And to thee, all thy knightes among,
Defiance here hath sent.

"But yette he will appease his wrath,
Thy daughters love to winne;

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

"Thy head, Syr King, must goe with mee,

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“Is there never a knighte of my round tablè

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 faire Christabelle

To be his wedded fere."

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But every knighte of his round tablè

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,

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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;

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Ile fight for thee with this grimme Soldàn,

Thoughe he be unmacklye made.

"And if thou wilt lend me the Eldridge sworde,

That lyeth within thy bowre,

I truste in Christe for to slay this fiende,

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Thoughe he be stiff in stowre."

"Goe fetch him downe the Eldridge sworde,"

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

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

The Soldan strucke the knighte a stroke,
That made him recle 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.

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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.

The knighte he leapt upon his feete,
All recklesse of the pain:

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Quoth hee, "But heaven be now my speede,

Or else I shall be slaine."

He grasped his sworde with mayne and mighte,
And spying a secrette part,

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He drave it into the Soldan's syde,

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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.

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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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