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55

60

I dyd than taste the aromatyke lycoure,

Fragraunt of fume, and swete as any floure ; And in my mouthe it had a marveylous scent Of divers spyces, I knewe not what it ment. And after thys further forth me brought

Dame Countenaunce into a goodly Hall, Of jasper ftones it was wonderly wrought:

The wyndowes cleare depured all of cryftall,

And in the roufe on hye over all
Of golde was made a ryght crafty vyne;
Instede of

grapes

the rubies there did shyne. The flore was paved with berall clarified,

With pillers made of stones precious, Like a place of pleasure fo gayely glorified,

It myght be called a palaice glorious,

So muche delectable and solacious; The hall was hanged hye and circuler With cloth of arras in the rychest maner. That treated well of a ful noble ftory,

Of the doubty waye to the Tower Perillous ; + Howe a noble knyght should wynne the victory

Of many a ferpente foule and odious.

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# The story of the poem.

XI.

XI.

THE CHILD

OF ELLE,

- is given from a fragment in the Editor's folio MS: which tho extremely defective and mutilated appeared to have so much merit, that it excited a strong desire to attempt a 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 confiders how difficult it must be to imitate the affecting fimplicity and artless beauties of the original. Child was a title sometimes given to a knight. See Gloff.

ON yonder hill a castle ftandes,

a 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 Emmelines page

Come trippinge downe the dale.

10

The Child of Elle he hyed him thence,

Y-wis he stoode not stille,
And soone he mette faire Emmelines page

Come climbing up the hille.

Nowe

Nowe Chrifte thee fave, thou little foot-page,

Now Chrifte thee fave and see!
Oh telle me how does thy ladye gaye,

And what may thy tydinges bee?

15

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.

20

And here shee sends thee a filken scarfe ,

Bedewde with many a teare,
And biddes thee sometimes thinke on her,
Who loved thee so deare.

25

And here thee sends thee a ring of golde

The last boone thou mayst have, And biddes thee weare it for her fake,

Whan she is layde in grave.

For, ah! her gentle heart is broke,

And in grave soone must see tee,
Sith her father hath chose her a new new love,

And forbidde her to think of thee.

30

Her father hath brought her a carlish knight,

Sir John of the north countrye, And within three dayes shee muft him wedde, 35 Or he vowes he will her slaye.

Nowe

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.

40

Nowe hye thee backe, thou little foot-page,

And let thy fair ladye know
This night will I bee at her bowre-windowe,

Betide me weale or woe.

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45

The boye he tripped, the boye he ranne,

He neither stint ne stayd
Untill he came to fair Emmelines bowre,

Whan kneeling downe he fayd,

50

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 fate in her bowre to weepe :

55

And soone shee heard her true loves voice

Lowe whispering at the walle,
Awake, awake, my deare ladyè,

Tis I thy true love call.

60 Awake,

Awake, awake, my ladye deare,

Come, mount this faire palfraye :
This ladder of ropes will lette thee downé,

Ile carrye thee hence awaye.

65

Now nay,

Nowe nay, nowe nay, thou gentle knight,

this

may not bee; For

aye should I tint my maiden fame, If alone I should wend with thee.

70

O ladye, thou with a knighte so true

Mayft fafelye wend alone,
To my ladye mother I will thee bringe,

Where marriage shall make us one.

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 ?

75

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."

80

O ladye, wert thou in thy faddle fette,

And a little space him fro,
I would not care for thy cruel father,

Nor the worst that he could doe.

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