The times. (Owosso, Mich.) 1882-1897, 1897-01-29
Sir Cauline.


The ballad of Sir Cauline forms tn,
text of the next lecture in the Univer
city Extension Course, which Prof. Moul
ton gives on"Love" in the Congregations
church, Thursday evening, of next week
The Woman's Literary Club will alsc
study the same at its next meeting. W.
publish the ballad in full for the benefit
of our patrons who may be unable to 81
cure copy of the work before the lee
tcre:
PART THE FIRST.
In Ireland ferr over the sea,
There dwelleth bonnye kinge;
| And with him young and comlye knighte.
Men call him Syr G iuline.
The kinge had ladye to his daughter,
In fashyon she hath no peer;
And princely wigbtes that ladye wooed
To be theyr welded feere.
Syr Cauline loveth her best Of all,
But nothing burst he saye
Ne descreeve his counsayl to no man,
But eerlye he lovde this may.
Till on daye 1t so beffel
Great dill TO him was digit;
The maydens love removde his mynde,
To care bed went the knighte.
One while he spred his armes him fro,
One while he spred them nye;
"Aud aye! but WHINE that ladyes love,
For dole now nun dye"
And whan our parish-masse was done,
Our kinge was bovine to dyne:
Ae says, "Where is syr Cauline,
That is wont to serve the wyner'
Then aunnwerde him courteous knighte,
And fast his handles gan wrihge;
"Sir Cauline is sickle, and like to dye,
Without good leechinge."
"Fetche me downe my daughter deere,
She is leeche fulle fine
Goe take him doughe. ana the baken bread,
And serve him with the wyne soc red;
Rothe were him to tine"
Fair Christabelle to his chaumber goes,
Her maydens following nye;
10 WE'LL" she sayth, "How doth my lords"
10 sick, thou fayr ladye."
"Nowe ryse up wightlye, man, for shame,
Never I've soc cowardlee;
For it is told in my fathers halle,
You dye for love for NEE"
"Fayre ladye, it is for your love
That all this dill drye;
For il you void comfort me with kisse,
Then were brought from bale to blisse,
No lenger void lye."
"Syr Knighte, my father is kinge,
l am his onlye heire;
Alas and well you knowe Syr Knighte,
never can be you're fere."
l,5ya +ho,, N oNl,ipuaS douobtar
And am not thy peere;
But let me doe some decides OF armes
To be your bacheleere."
"Some decides of armes II thou wilt doe,
My bacheleere to bee,
(But ever and aye my heart void rue.
Gift harm shold happe to thee.)
upon Eldridge hill there groweth thorne,
Upon the mores brodinge;
And dare We, Syr Knighte, wake there all
nighte,
Until the fayre morninge?
'For the Eldridge knighte, so mickle of mighte,
Will examine you beforne,
And never man bare life awaye,
But he did him scath and scorne.
THAT knighte he is a foul paynim,
And large of limb add bone;
And but If heaven may be thy speede,
Thy life it Is but gone"
.Now on the Eldridge hilles lie Wake,
For thy sake, fair ladie;
Ard lie either bring you a ready token,
Or lie never more you see.
The lady is gone to her own chaumbere,
Her maydens following bright;
Syr Cauline lope from carebed soone.
And to the Eldridoe hills ia gone
For to wake there all nighgt.
Unto midnight, that the income did rise,
He walked up and downe;
Then lightsome bugle heard he blowe
Over the bents soc browne;
Quath hee. If cryance come till my heart,
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 fayre kyrtell:
And soc fast he called on Syr Cauline,
20 man, rede thee fye,
For, but if cryance come till thy heari,
Iweene but thou nun dye"
He sayth, No. cryance comes till thy heart
Nor, in faith, 1 wyll not flee,
For, cause thou MINCED not Christ before,
The less me dreadeth thee"
The Eldridge knighte, he pricked his stedd;
Syr Cauline bold abode;
Then either shooke his trustye speare,
And the timber these two children bare
Soc soone in sunder slod.
Then tooxe they out theyr two good swordes,
And layoen on full taste,
Till helme and hawberke, mail and sheelde,
They all were wellnye brast.
The Eldridge knight was mickle of might,
And stiffe In slower did stande;
But Syr Cauline with a backward stroke,
He smote off his right hand;
That soon he, with pain and lacke of bloud
Fell downe on that lay land.
Then up Syr Cauline lift his brande
All over his head so hye
sand here sweare by the holy roode
How caytiffe, thou thalt dye
Then up and came that ladye brighte,
Faset wringing OF her handle;
"For the maydens love that most you love,
Withhold that deadly brande:
"For the mayden's love that most you love,