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Sir, quoth the dwarffe, and louted lowe,
Behold that hend Soldàin!
They are kings which he hath slain.
The Eldridge knight is his own cousine,
Whom a knight of thine hath shent:
Defiance here hath sent,
But yette he will appease his wrath
Thy daughters love to winne:
Thy halls and towers must brenne.
Thy head, syr king, must goe with mee;
Or else thy daughter deere;
Thou must finde him a peere.
The king he turned him round aboute,
And in his heart was woe:
This matter will undergoe?
Is there never a knighte amongst yee all
Will fight for my daughter and mee? Whoever will fight yon grimme soldàn,
Right fair his meede shall bee.
For hee shall have my broad lay-lands,
And of my crowne be heyre ;
To be his wedded fere.
But every knighte of his round table
Did stand both still and pale ;
It made their hearts to quail.
All woe-begone was that fayre ladyè,
When she sawe no helpe was nye :
And the teares gusht from her eye.
Up then sterte the stranger knighte,
Sayd, Ladye, be not affrayd :
Thoughe he be unmacklye made.
And if thou wilt lend me the Eldridge sworde,
That lyeth within thy bowre, I truste in Christe for to slay this fiende 125
Thoughe he be stiff in stowre.
Goe fetch him downe the Eldridge sworde,
The kinge he cryde, with speede :
The gyaunt he stepped into the lists,
And sayd, Awaye, awaye:
Thou lettest me here all daye.
Then forthe the stranger knight he came
In his blacke armoure dight:
“ That this were my true knighte!"
And nowe the gyaunt and knighte be mett
Within the lists soe broad;
They gan to lay on load.
The soldan strucke the knighte a stroke,
That made him reele asyde;
And thrice she deeply sighde.
The soldan strucke a second stroke,
And made the bloude to flowe:
And thrice she wept for woe.
The soldan strucke a third fell stroke,
Which brought the knighte on his knee:
And she shriekt loud shriekings three.
The knighte he leapt upon his feete,
All recklesse of the pain :
Or else I shall be slaine.
He grasped his sworde with mayne and mighte, And spying a secrette part,
160:He drave it into the soldan's syde,
And pierced him to the heart.
Then all the people gave a shoute,
Whan they sawe the soldan falle: The ladye wept, and thanked Christ,
That had reskewed her from thrall.
And nowe the kinge with all his barons
from offe his seate,
That curteous knighte to greete.
But he for payne and lacke of bloude
Was fallen intò a swounde,
Lay lifelesse on the grounde.
Come downe, come downe, my daughter deare, 175
Thou art a leeche of skille;
Than this good knighte sholde spille.
Downe then steppeth that fayre ladyè,
To helpe him if she maye;
And shriekte and swound awaye.
Sir Cauline juste lifte up his
eyes When he heard his ladye crye, O ladye, I am thine owne true love;
For thee I wisht to dye.
Then giving her one partinge looke,
He closed his eyes in death,
Begane to drawe her breathe.
But when she found her comelye knighte
And thus she made her moane.
O staye, my deare and onlye lord,
For mee thy faithfulle feere; 'Tis meet that I shold followe thee,
Who hast bought my love so deare.
Then fayntinge in a deadlye swoune,
And with a deep-fette sighe,
Fayre Christabelle did dye.