The book of British ballads . Sbir (JPaultnt. Sir Cauline loveth her best of all, But nothing durst he saye;Ne descreeve his counsayl to no man, But deerlye he lovde this may. Till on a daye it so beffell, Great dill to him was dight;The maydens love removde his mynd, To care-bed went the knighte. One while he spred his armes him fro,One while he spred them nye: And aye, But I winne that ladyes love,For dole now I mun dye. And whan our parish-masse was done,Our kinge was bowne to dyne : He sayes, Where is Sir Cauline,That is wont to serve the wyne ? Then aunswerde him a courteous knighte,And f
The book of British ballads . Sbir (JPaultnt. Sir Cauline loveth her best of all, But nothing durst he saye;Ne descreeve his counsayl to no man, But deerlye he lovde this may. Till on a daye it so beffell, Great dill to him was dight;The maydens love removde his mynd, To care-bed went the knighte. One while he spred his armes him fro,One while he spred them nye: And aye, But I winne that ladyes love,For dole now I mun dye. And whan our parish-masse was done,Our kinge was bowne to dyne : He sayes, Where is Sir Cauline,That is wont to serve the wyne ? Then aunswerde him a courteous knighte,And fast his handes gan wringe : Sir Cauline is sicke, and like to dyeWithout a good leechinge. Fetche me downe my daughter deere, She is a leeche fulle fine :Goe take him doughe, and the baken bread,And serve him with the wyne soe red; Lothe I were him to tine. Fair Christabelle to his chaumber goes, Her maydens followyng nye : O well, she sayth, how doth my lord ? 0 sicke, thou fayr ladye. Nowe ryse up wightlye, man for shame, N
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