I dyd than tafte the aromatyke lycoure,
Fragraunt of fume, and fwete as any floure;
And in my mouthe it had a marveylous fcent
Of divers spyces, I knewe not what it ment.
And after thys further forth me brought
Dame Countenaunce into a goodly Hall,
Of jafper ftones it was wonderly wrought:
The wyndowes cleare depured all of crystall,
And in the roufe on hye over all

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60

Of golde was made a ryght crafty vyne ;

Inftede of grapes the rubies there did shyne.

The flore was paved with berall clarified,

65

With pillers made of ftones precious,
Like a place of pleasure fo gayely glorified,
It myght be called a palaice glorious,
So muche delectable and folacious;
The hall was hanged hye and circuler
With cloth of arras in the rychest maner.

That treated well of a ful noble story,

Of the doubty waye to the Tower Perillous ; † Howe a noble knyght should wynne the victory Of many a ferpente foule and odious.

†The ftory of the poem.

70

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 fo much merit, that it excited a strong defire to attempt a completion of the ftory. The Reader will eafily difcover the fupplemental ftanzas by their inferiority, and at the fame 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.

N yonder hill a castle ftandes,

ON

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 ftood at his garden pale,

Whan, lo! he beheld fair Emmelines
Come trippinge downe the dale.

page

The Child of Elle he hyed him thence,

Y-wis he ftoode not stille,

And foone he mette faire Emmelines page
Come climbing up the hille.

10

Nowe Chrifte thee fave, thou little foot-page,

Now Chrifte thee fave and fee!

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

My lady fhee 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 fhee fends thee a filken fcarfe
Bedewde with many a teare,

And biddes thee fometimes thinke on her,

Who loved thee fo deare.

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20

And here fhee fends thee a ring of golde

25

The last boone thou mayst have, And biddes thee weare it for her fake, Whan fhe is layde in grave."

For, ah! her gentle heart is broke,

And in grave foone muft fhee bee,

30

Sith her father hath chofe 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 countràye,

And within three dayes fhee muft him wedde, 35 Or he vowes he will her flaye.

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 fette her free.

49

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.

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

45

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 fette thee free.

Nowe daye was gone, and night was come,
And all were fast asleepe,

All fave the ladye Emmeline,

Who fate in her bowre to weepe :

And foone shee heard her true loves voice
Lowe whispering at the walle,
Awake, awake, my deare ladyè,

Tis I thy true love call.

LA

60

Awake,

Awake, awake, my ladye deare,

Come, mount this faire palfràye:

This ladder of ropes will lette thee downe,

Ile carrye thee hence awaye.

Nowe nay, nowe nay, thou gentle knight,

Now nay, this may not bee;

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

65

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.

70

My father he is a baron bolde,

1

Of lynage proude and hye;
And what would he faye if his daughtèr
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 flayne thee, Child of Elle,

80

And feene thy deare hearts bloode."

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.