He layd a bright browne fword by his fide, And twentye good knights he placed at hand, And about the middle time of the night, Came twentye-four traitours inn: Sir Giles he was the foremost man, The leader of that ginn. The old knight with his bright browne sword, None fave only a litle foot page, Crept forth at a window of stone: And he had two armes when he came in, And he went back with one. Upp then came that ladie gaye With torches burning bright: She thought to have brought fir Gyles a drinke, Butt fhe found her owne wedd knight. The first thinge that the ftumbled on It was fir Gyles his foote: Sayes, Ever alacke, and woe is mee! 85 90 95 100 Here lyes my fweete hart-roote. The 1 The next thinge that she stumbled on Hee cutt the pappes befide her breft, And did her body fpille; He cutt the eares beside her heade, He called then up his litle foot-page, And fayd henceforth my worldlye goodes He fhope the croffe on his right shoulder, Of the white clothe' and the redde*, And went him into the holy land, Whereas Christ was quicke and deade. Ver. 118. fefhe. MS. 105 110 115 120 Every perfon, who went on a CROISADE to the Holy Land, ufually wore a cross on his upper garment, on the right shoulder, as a badge of his profeffion. Different nations were diftinguished by croffes of different colours: The English wore white; the French red; &c. This circumftance feems to be confounded in the ballad. [Vide Spelmannt Gloffar. Chambers Dict. &c.] 1 IX. CHILD WATER S. CHILD is frequently used by our old writers, as a Fitle. It is repeatedly given to Prince Arthur in the Fairie Queen: and the fon of a king is in the fame poem called Child Triftram. [B. 5. c. 11. ft. 8. 13.---B. 6. c. 2. ft. 36. Ibid. c. 8. ft..15.] In an old ballad quoted in Shakespeare's K. Lear, the hero of Ariefto is called Child Roland. Mr. Theobald fuppofes this ufe of the word received along with their romances from the Spaniards, with whom Infante fignifies a Prince. A more eminent critic tells us, that "in the old times of chivalry, the noble youth, "who were candidates for knighthood, during the time of "their probation were called Infans, Varlets, Damoyfels, "Bacheliers. The most noble of the youth were particu larly called Infans." [Vid. Warb. Shakefp.] A late commentator on Spenfer obferves, that the Saxon word cnihz knight, fignifies alfo a Child.. [See Upton's gloss to the F. 2.] The Editor's MS. collection, whence the following piece is taken, affords feveral other ballads, wherein the word Child occurs as a title: but in none of thefe it fignifies "Prince." See the fong intitled Gil Morrice, in this volume. It ought to be observed that the Word CHILD or CHIELD is fill ufed in North Britain to denominate a Man, commonly with fome contemptuous character affixed to him: but fometimes to denote Man in general. Hilde Waters in his ftable floode And ftroakt his milke-white fteede: To him a fayre yonge ladye came As ever ware womans weede. Sayes, Chrift you fave, good Childe Waters; 5 Sayes, Chrift you fave, and fee: My girdle of gold that was too longe, Is now too fhort for mee. And all is with one childe of yours, I feele fturre at my fide : My gowne of greene it is too ftraighte; If the childe be mine, faire Ellen, he fayd, Be mine as you tell mee; 10 Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both, 15 Take them your owne to bee. If the childe be mine, faire Ellen, he fayd, Then take you Chefhire and Lancashire both, Shee fayes, I had rather have one kiffe, Childe Waters, of thy mouth; 20 Than I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both, That lye by north and fouthe. And I had rather have one twinkling, Childe Waters, of thine ee: 25 Then I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both, To take them mine owne to bee. To morrowe, Ellen, I must forth ryde Thoughe I am not that ladye fayre, 'Yet let me go with thee': 30 And ever I pray you, Childe Watèrs, 35 If you will my foot-page bee, Ellèn, of greene, 40 Then you must cut your gowne An inch above your knee: Soe muft you doe your yellowe lockes, An inch above your ee; You must tell no man what is my name; Shee, all the long daye Childe Waters rode, 45 Ran barefoote by his syde; Yet was he never foe courteous a knighte, Shee, all the long daye Childe Waters rode, 50 To fay, put on your shoone, Ride |