# The English and Scottish Popular Ballads/Part 3/Chapter 61

AND in that land dwells a king Which does beare the bell ouer all, And with him there dwelled a curteous knight, Sir Cawline men him call. And he hath a ladye to his daughter, Of ffashyon shee hath noe peer; Knights and lordes they woed her both, Trusted to haue beene her feere. Sir Cawline loues her best of on?e, But nothing durst hee say To discreeue his councell to noe man, But deerlye loued this may. Till itt beffell vpon a day, Great dill to him was dight; The maydens loue remoued his mind, To care-bed went the knight. And one while he spread his armes him ffroe, And cryed so pittyouslye: 'Ffor the maydens loue that I haue most minde This day may comfort mee, Or else ere noone I shalbe dead!' Thus can Sir Cawline say. When our parish masse that itt was done, And our king was bowne to dine, He sayes, Where is Sir Cawline, But then answered a curteous knight, Ffast his hands wringinge: 'Sir Cawline's sicke, and like to be dead Without and a good leedginge.' 'Ffeitch yee downe my daughter deere, Shee is a leeche ffull ffine; I, and take you doe and the baken bread, And drinke he on the wine soe red, And looke no daynti is ffor him to deare, For ffull loth I wold him tine.' This ladye is gone to his chamber, Her maydens ffollowing nye; 'O well,' shee sayth, 'how doth my lord?' 'O sicke!' againe saith hee. 'I, but rise vp wightlye, man, for shame! Neuer lye here soe cowardlye! Itt is told in my ffathers hall, Ffor my loue you will dye.' 'Itt is ffor your loue, ffayre ladye, that all this dill I drye; Ffor if you wold comfort me with a kisse, Then were I brought ffrom bale to blisse, Noe longer here wold I lye.' 'Alas! soe well you know, Sir knight,' . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I cannott bee your peere: 'Ffor some deeds of armes ffaine wold I doe, To be your bacheeleere.' 'Vpon Eldrige Hill there growes a thorne, Vpon the mores brodinge; And wold you, sir knight, wake there all night To day of the other morninge? 'Ffor the eldrige king, that is mickle of might, Will examine you beforne; And there was neuer man that bare his liffe away Since the day that I was borne.' 'But I will ffor your sake, ffaire ladye, Walke on the bents [soe] browne, And Ile either bring you a readye token, Or Ile neuer come to you againe.' But this ladye is gone to her chamber, Her maydens ffollowing bright, And Sir Cawlin's gone to the mores soe broad, Ffor to wake there all night. Vnto midnight [that] the moone did rise, He walked vp and downe, And a lightsome bugle then heard he blow, Ouer the bents soe browne; Saies hee, And if cryance come vntill my hart, I am ffarr ffrom any good towne. And he spyed, ene a litle him by, A ffuryous king and a ffell, And a ladye bright his brydle led, that seemlye itt was to see. And soe fast hee called vpon Sir Cawline, Oh man, I redd the fflye! Ffor if cryance come vntill thy hart, I am a-feard least thou mun dye. He sayes, [No] cryance comes to my hart, Nor ifaith I ffeare not thee; Ffor because thou minged not Christ before, Thee lesse me dreadeth thee. But Sir Cawline he shooke a speare; The king was bold, and abode; And the timber these two children bore Soe soone in sunder slode; Ffor they tooke and two good swords, And they layden on good loade. But the elridge king was mickle of might, And stiffly to the ground did stand; But Sir Cawline, with an aukeward stroke, He brought ffrom him his hand, I, and fflying ouer his head soe hye, [It] ffell downe of that lay land. And his lady stood a litle thereby, Ffast ringing her hands: 'For the maydens loue that you haue most minde, Smyte you my lord no more. 'And hees neuer come vpon Eldrige [Hill], Him to sport, gamon, or play, And to meete noe man of middle-earth And that liues on Christs his lay.' But he then vp and that eldryge king, Sett him in his sadle againe, And that eldryge king and his ladye To their castle are they gone. And hee tooke then vp and that eldryge sword, As hard as any fflynt, And soe he did those ringes fiue, Harder then ffyer, and brent. Ffirst he presented to the kings daughter The hand, and then the sword, . . . . . . . . . . . '' '' '' '' '' 'But a serre buffett you haue him giuen, The king and the crowne,' shee sayd: 'I, but four and thirty stripes Comen beside the rood.' And a gyant that was both stiffe [and] strong, He lope now them amonge, And vpon his squier fiue heads he bare, Vnmackley made was hee. And he dranke then on the kings wine, And hee put the cup in his sleeue, And all th?e trembled and were wan, Ffor feare he shold them greeffe. 'Ill tell thee mine arrand, king,' he sayes, 'Mine errand what I doe heere; Ffor I will bren thy temples hye, Or Ile haue thy daughter deere; Thou shalt ffind mee a ppeare.' I, or else vpon yond more soe brood The king he turned him round about, Lord, in his heart he was woe! Says, Is there noe knight of the Round Table This matter will vndergoe? 'I, and hee shall haue my broad lands, And keepe them well his liue; I, and soe hee shall my daughter deere, To be his weded wiffe.' And then stood vp Sir Cawline, His owne errand ffor to say: 'Ifaith, I wold to God, Sir,' sayd Sir Cawline, 'that soldan I will assay. 'Goe ffeitch me downe my eldrige sword, Ffor I woone itt att ffray:' 'But away, away!' sayd the hend soldan, 'Thou tarryest mee here all day!' But the hend soldan and Sir Cawline Th?e ffought a summers day; Now has hee slaine that hend soldan, And brought his fiue heads away. And the king has betaken him his broade lands, And all his venison; . . . . . . . . . . . 'But take you doo and your lands [soe] broad, And brooke them well your liffe; Ffor you promised mee your daughter deere, To be my weded wiffe.' 'Now by my ffaith,' then sayes our king, 'Ffor that wee will not striffe, Ffor thou shalt haue my daughter dere, To be thy weded wiffe.' The other morninge Sir Cawline rose By the dawning of the day, And vntill a garden did he goe His mattins ffor to say; And that bespyed a ffalse steward, A shames death that he might dye! And he lett a lyon out of a bande, Sir Cawline ffor to teare; And he had noe wepon him vpon, Nor noe wepon did weare. But hee tooke then his mantle of greene, Into the lyons mouth itt thrust; He held the lyon soe sore to the wall Till the lyons hart did burst. And the watchmen cryed vpon the walls And sayd, 'Sir Cawline's slaine! And with a beast is not ffull litle, A lyon of mickle mayne:' Then the kings daughter shee ffell downe, 'For peerlesse is my payne!' 'O peace, my lady!' sayes Sir Cawline, 'I haue bought thy loue ffull deere; O peace, my lady!' sayes Sir Cawline, 'Peace, lady, ffor I am heere!' Then he did marry this kings daughter, With gold and siluer bright, And fiftene sonnes this ladye beere To Sir Cawline the knight.