The book of British ballads . o 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 wy
The book of British ballads . o 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 swordes, And layden on full faste,Till helme and hawberke, mail and sheelde, They all were well-nye brast. J. Franklin del. G P. Nicnoll 302. The Eldridge knight was mickle of might,And stiffe in stower did stande, But Sir Cauline with a backward strokeHe smote off his right hand ; That soone he with paine and lacke of bloudFell downe on that lay-land. Then up Sir Cauline lift his brande All over his head so hye : And here I sweare by the holy roode Nowe, caytiffe, thou shalt dye. Then up and came that ladye brighte, Fast wringing of her hande : For the maydens love, that most you love, Withhold that deadlye brande : For the maydens love, that most you love, Now smyte no more I praye;And aye whatever thou wilt, my lord, He shall thy hests obaye. Now sweare to mee, thou Eldridge knighte, And here on this lay-land,That thou wilt believe on Christ his laye, And thereto plight thy hand : And that thou never on Eldridge come To sporte, gamon, or playe :And that thou here give up thy armes Until thy dying daye. The Eldridge knighte gave up his armesWith many a sorrowfulle sighe ; And sware to obey Si
Size: 920px × 2716px
Photo credit: © The Reading Room / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1840, bookidg, bookpublisherlondonjhow
