the earliest times among all the Gothic and Celtic nations for women, even of the highest rank, to exercise the art of furgery. In the Northern Chronicles we always find the young damfells franching the wounds of their lovers, and the wives thofe of their bufbands; from the prince down to the meanest of his followers. See L'Introd. à l'Hift. de Dannemarc. L. v. p. 199. Memoires de la Chevalerie. Tom. 1. · P. 44°

THE FIRST PART.

IN Ireland, ferr over the fea,

There dwelleth a bonnye kinge;

And with him a yong and comlye knighte,
Men call him fyr Caulìne.

The kinge had a ladye to his daughter,

In fashyon fhe hath no peere;

And princely wightes that ladye wooed
To be theyr wedded feere.

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.

15

One

One while he fpred 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-maffe was done,
Our kinge was bowne to dyne:

He fayes, Where is fyr Cauline,

20

Goe take him doughe, and the baken bread,

And ferve him with the wyne foe red;

Lothe I were him to tine.

Fair Christabelle to his chaumber goes,

Her maydens followyng nye :

35

O well, fhe fayth, how doth my lord?
O ficke, thou fayr ladyè.

Nowe ryfe up wightlye, man, for fhame,

Never lye foe cowardlee;

For it is told in my fathers halle,

49

You dye for love of mee.

Fayre ladye, it is for your love

That all this dill I drye:

For if you wold comfort me with a kisse,

Then were I brought from bale to bliffe,

45

No lenger wold I lye.

Syr knighte, my father is a kinge,

I am his onlye heire;

Alas! and well you knowe, fyr knighte,

I never can be youre fere.

O ladye, thou art a kinges daughtèr,

And I am not thy peere,

But let me doe fome deedes of armes

your bacheleere.

50

To be

Some deedes of armes if thou wilt doe,

55

My bacheleere to bee,

(But ever and aye my heart wold rue,

Giff harm fhold happe to thee,)

Upon Eldridge hill there groweth a thorne,

Upon the mores brodinge;

60

And dare ye, fyr knighte, wake there all nighte

Untill the fayre mornìnge.

For

For the Eldridge knighte, fo mickle of mighte,
Will examine you beforne :

And never man bare life awaye,
But he did him feath and scorne.

That knighte he is a foul paynìm,
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 Ile walke,

For thy fake, faire ladìe:

65

70

He walked up and downe;

Then a lightfome bugle heard he blowe

Over the bents foe browne:

Quoth hee, If cryance come till my heart,

My life it is but gone.

D 4

85

And

And foone he spyde on the mores so broad,

A furyous wight and fell;

A ladye bright his brydle led,

Clad in a fayre kyrtèll:

And foe faft he called on fyr Caulìne,

O man, I rede thee flye,

For but' if cryance come till thy heart,

I weene but thou mun dye.

He fayth, 'No' cryance comes till my

Nor, in faith, I wyll not flee;

مو

heart,

95

For, cause thou minged not Christ before,

The lefs me dreadeth thee.

The Eldridge knighte, he pricked his fteed;

Syr Cauline bold abode :

Then either fhooke his truftye speare,

And the timber these two children * bare

Soe foone in funder yode.'

100

Then tooke they out theyr two good swordes,

And layden on full faste,

Till helme and hawberke, mail and sheelde,

105

They all were well-nye braft.

The Eldridge knight was mickle of might,
And ftiffe in ftower did ftande,

* i. e. knights. See Vol. 1. pag. 58. V. 102. flode. MS.

But