20

And the ladye into a towre so hye,
There left to wayle and weepe.

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.

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

35

40

But here I will make 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 46] 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;

But ever shee droopeth in her minde,
As nipt by an ungentle winde

Doth some faire lillye flowre.

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.

45 Manye a kinge, and manye a duke,
And lords of high degree,

50

Did sue to that fayre ladye of love;
But never shee wolde them nee.

When manye a day was past and gone,
Ne comforte she colde finde,

The kynge proclaimed a tourneament,

The (7. To corr.) cheere his daughters mind:
And there came lords, and there came knights,

Fro manye a farre countryè,

55 [To 47] To break a spere for theyr ladyes love Before that faire ladyè.

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

But faire Christabelle soe woe-begone

Was the fayrest of them all.

60

5

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

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

65

10

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

70

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 48] Before him came a dwarffe full lowe, That waited on his knee,

75

And at his backe five heads he bare,

80

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 cousine,
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.

35

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.

85

90

VOL.

III. E

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

100

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

The king he turned him round aboute,

And in his heart was woe:

[Is 49] 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?
105 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.

5

10

15

110

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.

20

115 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.

120

Up then sterte the stranger knighte,
Sayd, Ladye, be not affrayd:

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

[And 50] And if thou wilt lend me the Eldridge sworde,

That lyeth within thy bowre,

125 I truste in Christe for to slay this fiende

130

Thoughe he be stiff in stowre.

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

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

25

30

35

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.

5

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

135

The ladye sighed a gentle sighe,

"That this were my true knighte!"

10

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

140

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

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

15

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

145

20

[The 51] The soldan strucke a second stroke,
That made the bloude to flowe:
All pale and wan was that ladye fayre,
And thrice she wept for woe.

150

Which brought the knighte on his knee:

The soldan strucke a third fell stroke,

Sad sorrow pierced that ladyes heart,

And she shriekt loud shreikings (l. shriek.) three.

25

25

The knighte he leapt upon his feete,

155

All recklesse of the pain:

Quoth hee, But heaven be now my speede,

E 2170

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 52] But he for payne and lacke of bloude
Was fallen intò a swounde,

And there all walteringe in his gore,
Laye lifelesse on the grounde.

175 Come downe, come downe, my daughter deare,
Thou art a leeche of skille;

180

185

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 awaye.
Sir Cauline juste 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 closed his eyes in deathe,

190 Ere Christabelle, that ladye milde,

195

Begane to drawe her breathe.

But when she found her comelye knighte

Indeed was dead and gone,

[Shee 53] Shee layde her pale cold cheeke to his,
And thus she made her moane.

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.

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

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