The book of British ballads . brought from bale to blisse, No lenger wold I lye. Sir knighte, my father is a kinge, I am his onlye heire ;Alas ! and well you knowe, syr knighte, I never can be youre fere. 0 ladye, thou art a kinges daughter, And I am not thy peere,But let me doe some deedes of armes To be your bacheleere. Some deedes of arms if thou wilt doe, My bacheleere to bee,But ever and aye my heart wold rue, GifF harm shold happe to thee. Upon Eldridge hill there groweth a thorne,Upon the mores brodinge; [nighte, And dare ye, syr knighte, wake there allUntill the fayre morninge ? For th
The book of British ballads . brought from bale to blisse, No lenger wold I lye. Sir knighte, my father is a kinge, I am his onlye heire ;Alas ! and well you knowe, syr knighte, I never can be youre fere. 0 ladye, thou art a kinges daughter, And I am not thy peere,But let me doe some deedes of armes To be your bacheleere. Some deedes of arms if thou wilt doe, My bacheleere to bee,But ever and aye my heart wold rue, GifF harm shold happe to thee. Upon Eldridge hill there groweth a thorne,Upon the mores brodinge; [nighte, And dare ye, syr knighte, wake there allUntill the fayre morninge ? For the Eldridge knighte, so mickle ofWill examine you beforne: [mighte, And never man bare life awaye,But he did him scath and scorne. That knighte he is a fond paynim, 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 Be walke, For thy sake, faire ladye ;And Be either bring you a ready token, Or Be never more you see. J-—1AA J. Franklin del J. Bastin sc. 301 T. The lady is gone to her own chambere, Her maydens following bright:Sir Cauline lope from care-bed soone,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 lightsome bugle heard he blowe Over the bents soe browne;Quoth hee, If cryance come till my heart, I am far from any good towne. And soone he spyde on the mores so broad, A furyous wight and fell;A ladye bright his brydle led, Clad in a fayre kyrtell; And soe fast he called on Sir Cauline, O man, I rede thee flye,For but if cryance comes till my heart, I weene but thou mun dye. He sayth, No cryance comes till my heart, Nor in fayth, I wyll not flee ;For, cause thou minged not Christ before, The less me dreadeth thee. The Eldridge knighte he pricked his steed ; Sir Cauline bold abode :Then either shooke his trustye speare,And the timber these two children bare Soe soone in sunder slode. Then tooke they out theyr two good sw
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