Some of her bones in Warwicke yett
Still for a monument doth lye,
And there exposed to lookers viewe,
As wondrous strange, they may espye.

A dragon in Northumberland

I alsoe did in fight destroye,

Which did bothe man and beast oppresse, And all the countrye sore annoye.

At length to Warwicke I did come,

Like pilgrim poore, and was not knowne;

And there I lived a hermitt's life

A mile and more out of the towne.

Where with my hands I hewed a house
Out of a craggy rocke of stone,
And lived like a palmer poore

Within that cave myself alone :

And daylye came to begg my bread
Of Phelis att my castle gate ;
Not knowne unto my loved wiffe,
Who dailye mourned for her mate.

Till att the last I fell sore sicke,

Yea, sicke soe sore that I must dye;

I sent to her a ring of golde,

By which shee knew me presentlye.

Then she repairing to the cave,

Before that I gave up the ghost,

Herself closd up my dying eyes;

My Phelis faire, whom I lov'd most.

My body that endured this toyle,

Though now it be consumed to mould,

My statue, faire engraven in stone,

In Warwicke still you may behold.

THE CHILD OF ELLE.

"From a fragment in the Editor's folio MS. which, though extremely defective and mutilated, appeared to have so much merit, that it excited a strong desire to attempt the completion of the story. The reader will easily discover the supplemental stanzas by their inferiority, and at the same time be inclined to pardon it, when he considers how difficult it must be to imitate the affecting simplicity and artless beauties of the original.”PERCY.

N yonder hill a castle standes,

With walles and towres bedight,
And yonder lives the Child of Elle,
A younge and comely knighte.

The Child of Elle to his garden wente,
And stood at his garden pale,
Whan, lo he beheld fair Emmeline's page
Come trippinge downe the dale.

The Child of Elle he hyed him thence,

Ywis he stoode not stille,

And soone he mette faire Emmeline's page

Come climbing up the hille.

"Nowe Christe thee save, thou little foot-page,
Nowe Christe thee save and see!

Oh telle me how does thy ladye gaye,
And what may thy tydinges bee?"

"My lady shee is all woe-begone,

And the teares they falle from her eyne;
And aye she laments the deadlye feude
Betweene her house and thine.

And here shee sends thee a silken scarfe,
Bedewde with many a teare,

And biddes thee sometimes thinke on her,
Who loved thee so deare.

And here shee sends thee a ring of golde,
The last boone thou mayst have,
And biddes thee weare it for her sake,
When she is layde in grave.

For, ah! her gentle heart is broke,

And in grave soone must shee bee,

Sith her father hath chose her a new, new love, And forbidde her to think of thee.

Her father hath brought her a carlish knight,
Sir John of the north countraye,

And within three dayes shee must him wedde,
Or he vowes he will her slaye."

"Nowe hye thee backe, thou little foot-page, And greet thy ladye from mee,

And telle her that I, her owne true love,

Will dye, or sette her free.

Nowe hye thee backe, thou little foot-page,

And let thy fair ladye know,

This night will I be at her bowre-windowe, .
Betide me weale or woe."

The boye he tripped, the boye he ranne,
He neither stint ne stayd,

Untill he came to fair Emmeline's bowre,
When kneeling downe he sayd:

"O ladye, Ive been with thy own true love, And he greets thee well by mee;

This night will he bee at thy bowre-windowe, And dye or sette thee free."

Nowe daye was gone, and night was come,

And all were fast asleepe,

All save the ladye Emmeline,

Who sate in her bowre to weepe:

And soone shee heard her true loves voice

Lowe whispering at the walle: "Awake, awake, my deare ladye, 'Tis I, thy true love, call.

Awake, awake, my ladye deare,

Come, mount this faire palfraye :

This ladder of ropes will lette thee downe, Ile carry thee hence awaye."

"Nowe nay, nowe nay, thou gentle knight, Nowe nay, this may not bee;

For aye sould I tint' my maiden fame,

66

If alone I should wend with thee."

"O ladye, thou with a knight so true

Mayst safelye wend alone;

To my ladye mother I will thee bringe,
Where marriage shall make us one."

66

"My father he is a baron bolde,

Of lynage proude and hye;

And what would he saye if his daughter
Awaye with a knight should fly?

Ah! well I wot, he never would rest,

Nor his meate should doe him no goode,

Till he had slayne thee, Child of Elle,
And seene thy deare hearts bloode."

66

"O ladye, wert thou in thy saddle sette, And a little space him fro,3

I would not care for thy cruel father,

Nor the worst that he could doe.