The book of British ballads . Then shee held forthe her lilly-white hand Towards that knighte so free;He gave to it one gentill kisse, —His heart was brought from bale to blisse,The teares sterte from his ee. But keep my counsayl, Sir Cauline, Ne let no man it knowe ;For and ever my father sholde it ken, I wot he wolde us sloe. From that day forthe that ladye fayreLovde Sir Cauline, the knighte : From that day forthe he only joydeWhan shee was in his sight. Yea, and oftentimes they mette Within a fayre arboure,Where they in love and sweet daliaunce Past manye a pleasaunt houre. PART THE SECOND
The book of British ballads . Then shee held forthe her lilly-white hand Towards that knighte so free;He gave to it one gentill kisse, —His heart was brought from bale to blisse,The teares sterte from his ee. But keep my counsayl, Sir Cauline, Ne let no man it knowe ;For and ever my father sholde it ken, I wot he wolde us sloe. From that day forthe that ladye fayreLovde Sir Cauline, the knighte : From that day forthe he only joydeWhan shee was in his sight. Yea, and oftentimes they mette Within a fayre arboure,Where they in love and sweet daliaunce Past manye a pleasaunt houre. PART THE SECOND. Everye white will have its blacke,And everye sweete its sowre : This founde the Ladye ChristabelleIn an untimely howre. For so it befelle, as Sir 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 rest his wearye feet,He found his daughter and Sir Cauline There sette in daliaunce sweet. J. Franklin del. G. P. Nicnolls sc. 305 Sbtr ( The kinge hee sterted forthe, i-wys,And an angrye man was hee : Nowe, traytoure, thou shalthange or drawe,And rewe shall thy ladye. Then forthe Sir Cauline he was ledde,And throwne in dungeon deepe ; And the layde into a towre so hye,There left to wayle and weepe. The queene she was Sir Caulines friend, And to the kinge sayd shee : I praye you save Sir Caulines life, And let him banisht bee. Now, dame, that traytoure 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. All woebegone was that gentil knight To parte from his ladye;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: Sir Caulin
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