Chapter 2

Yett shall not Scotts nor Scotland say, But I will vengeance take: I'll be revenged on them all, For brave Erle Percyes sake.

This vow full well the king perform'd After, at Humbledowne; In one day, fifty knights were slayne, With lords of great renowne:

And of the rest, of small acount, Did many thousands dye: Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy-Chase, Made by the Erle Percy.

God save our king, and bless this land With plenty, joy, and peace; And grant henceforth, that foule debate 'Twixt noblemen may cease.

SIR LANCELOT DU LAKE

When Arthur first in court began, And was approved king, By force of armes great victorys wanne, And conquest home did bring,

Then into England straight he came With fifty good and able Knights, that resorted unto him, And were of his round table:

And he had justs and turnaments, Whereto were many prest, Wherein some knights did far excell And eke surmount the rest.

But one Sir Lancelot du Lake, Who was approved well, He for his deeds and feats of armes All others did excell.

When he had rested him a while, In play, and game, and sportt, He said he wold goe prove himselfe In some adventurous sort.

He armed rode in a forrest wide, And met a damsell faire, Who told him of adventures great, Whereto he gave great eare.

Such wold I find, quoth Lancelott: For that cause came I hither. Thou seemest, quoth shee, a knight full good, And I will bring thee thither.

Wheras a mighty knight doth dwell, That now is of great fame: Therefore tell me what wight thou art, And what may be thy name.

"My name is Lancelot du Lake." Quoth she, it likes me than: Here dwelles a knight who never was Yet matcht with any man:

Who has in prison threescore knights And four, that he did wound; Knights of King Arthurs court they be, And of his table round.

She brought him to a river side, And also to a tree, Whereon a copper bason hung, And many shields to see.

He struck soe hard, the bason broke; And Tarquin soon he spyed: Who drove a horse before him fast, Whereon a knight lay tyed.

Sir knight, then sayd Sir Lancelett, Bring me that horse-load hither, And lay him downe, and let him rest; Weel try our force together:

For, as I understand, thou hast, So far as thou art able, Done great despite and shame unto The knights of the Round Table.

If thou be of the Table Round, Quoth Tarquin speedilye, Both thee and all thy fellowship I utterly defye.

That's over much, quoth Lancelott tho, Defend thee by and by. They sett their speares unto their steeds, And eache att other flie.

They coucht theire speares (their horses ran, As though there had beene thunder), And strucke them each immidst their shields, Wherewith they broke in sunder.

Their horsses backes brake under them, The knights were both astound: To avoyd their horsses they made haste And light upon the ground.

They tooke them to their shields full fast, Their swords they drewe out than, With mighty strokes most eagerlye Each at the other ran.

They wounded were, and bled full sore, They both for breath did stand, And leaning on their swords awhile, Quoth Tarquine, Hold thy hand,

And tell to me what I shall aske. Say on, quoth Lancelot tho. Thou art, quoth Tarquine, the best knight That ever I did know:

And like a knight, that I did hate: Soe that thou be not hee, I will deliver all the rest, And eke accord with thee.

That is well said, quoth Lancelott; But sith it must be soe, What knight is that thou hatest thus I pray thee to me show.

His name is Lancelot du Lake, He slew my brother deere; Him I suspect of all the rest: I would I had him here.

Thy wish thou hast, but yet unknowne, I am Lancelot du Lake, Now knight of Arthurs Table Round; King Hauds son of Schuwake;

And I desire thee to do thy worst. Ho, ho, quoth Tarquin tho' One of us two shall ende our lives Before that we do go.

If thou be Lancelot du Lake, Then welcome shalt thou bee: Wherfore see thou thyself defend, For now defye I thee.

They buckled them together so, Like unto wild boares rashing; And with their swords and shields they ran At one another slashing:

The ground besprinkled was with blood: Tarquin began to yield; For he gave backe for wearinesse, And lowe did beare his shield.

This soone Sir Lancelot espyde, He leapt upon him then, He pull'd him downe upon his knee, And rushing off his helm,

Forthwith he strucke his necke in two, And, when he had soe done, From prison threescore knights and four Delivered everye one.

GIL MORRICE

Gil Morrice was an erles son, His name it waxed wide; It was nae for his great riches, Nor zet his mickle pride; Bot it was for a lady gay, That livd on Carron side.

Quhair sail I get a bonny boy, That will win hose and shoen; That will gae to Lord Barnards ha', And bid his lady cum? And ze maun rin my errand, Willie; And ze may rin wi' pride; Quhen other boys gae on their foot On horse-back ze sail ride.

O no! Oh no! my master dear! I dare nae for my life; I'll no gae to the bauld baròns, For to triest furth his wife. My bird Willie, my boy Willie; My dear Willie, he sayd: How can ze strive against the stream? For I sall be obeyd.

Bot, O my master dear! he cryd, In grene wod ze're zour lain; Gi owre sic thochts, I walde ze rede, For fear ze should be tain. Haste, haste, I say, gae to the ha', Bid hir cum here wi speid: If ze refuse my heigh command, Ill gar zour body bleid.

Gae bid hir take this gay mantel, 'Tis a' gowd hot the hem; Bid hir cum to the gude grene wode, And bring nane bot hir lain: And there it is a silken sarke, Hir ain hand sewd the sleive; And bid hir cum to Gill Morice, Speir nae bauld barons leave.

Yes, I will gae zour black errand, Though it be to zour cost; Sen ze by me will nae be warn'd, In it ze sail find frost. The baron he is a man of might, He neir could bide to taunt, As ze will see before its nicht, How sma' ze hae to vaunt.

And sen I maun zour errand rin Sae sair against my will, I'se mak a vow and keip it trow, It sall be done for ill. And quhen he came to broken brigue, He bent his bow and swam; And quhen he came to grass growing, Set down his feet and ran.

And quhen he came to Barnards ha', Would neither chap nor ca': Bot set his bent bow to his breist, And lichtly lap the wa'. He wauld nae tell the man his errand, Though he stude at the gait; Bot straiht into the ha' he cam, Quhair they were set at meit.

Hail! hail! my gentle sire and dame! My message winna waite; Dame, ze maun to the gude grene wod Before that it be late. Ze're bidden tak this gay mantèl, Tis a' gowd bot the hem: Zou maun gae to the gude grene wode, Ev'n by your sel alane.

And there it is, a silken sarke, Your ain hand sewd the sleive; Ze maun gae speik to Gill Morice: Speir nae bauld barons leave. The lady stamped wi' hir foot, And winked wi' hir ee; Bot a' that she coud say or do, Forbidden he wad nae bee.

Its surely to my bow'r-womàn; It neir could be to me. I brocht it to Lord Barnards lady; I trow that ze be she. Then up and spack the wylie nurse, (The bairn upon hir knee) If it be cum frae Gill Morice, It's deir welcum to mee.

Ze leid, ze leid, ze filthy nurse, Sae loud I heird zee lee; I brocht it to Lord Barnards lady; I trow ze be nae shee. Then up and spack the bauld baròn, An angry man was hee; He's tain the table wi' his foot, Sae has he wi' his knee; Till siller cup and 'mazer' dish In flinders he gard flee.

Gae bring a robe of zour clidìng, That hings upon the pin; And I'll gae to the gude grene wode, And speik wi' zour lemmàn. O bide at hame, now Lord Barnàrd, I warde ze bide at hame; Neir wyte a man for violence, That neir wate ze wi' nane.

Gil Morice sate in gude grene wode, He whistled and he sang: O what mean a' the folk comìng, My mother tarries lang. His hair was like the threeds of gold, Drawne frae Minerva's loome: His lipps like roses drapping dew, His breath was a' perfume.

His brow was like the mountain snae Gilt by the morning beam: His cheeks like living roses glow: His een like azure stream. The boy was clad in robes of grene, Sweete as the infant spring: And like the mavis on the bush, He gart the vallies ring.

The baron came to the grene wode, Wi' mickle dule and care, And there he first spied Gill Morice Kameing his zellow hair: That sweetly wavd around his face, That face beyond compare: He sang sae sweet it might dispel A' rage but fell despair.

Nae wonder, nae wonder, Gill Morìce, My lady loed thee weel, The fairest part of my bodie Is blacker than thy heel. Zet neir the less now, Gill Morìce, For a' thy great beautiè, Ze's rew the day ze eir was born; That head sall gae wi' me.

Now he has drawn his trusty brand, And slaited on the strae; And thro' Gill Morice' fair body He's gar cauld iron gae. And he has tain Gill Morice's head And set it on a speir; The meanest man in a' his train Has gotten that head to bear.

And he has tain Gill Morice up, Laid him across his steid, And brocht him to his painted bowr, And laid him on a bed. The lady sat on castil wa', Beheld baith dale and doun; And there she saw Gill Morice' head Cum trailing to the toun.

Far better I loe that bluidy head, Both and that zellow hair, Than Lord Barnard, and a' his lands, As they lig here and thair. And she has tain her Gill Morice, And kissd baith mouth and chin: I was once as fow of Gill Morice, As the hip is o' the stean.

I got ze in my father's house, Wi' mickle sin and shame; I brocht thee up in gude grene wode, Under the heavy rain. Oft have I by thy cradle sitten, And fondly seen thee sleip; But now I gae about thy grave, The saut tears for to weip.

And syne she kissd his bluidy cheik, And syne his bluidy chin: O better I loe my Gill Morice Than a' my kith and kin! Away, away, ze ill womàn, And an il deith mait ze dee: Gin I had kend he'd bin zour son, He'd neir bin slain for mee.

Obraid me not, my Lord Barnard! Obraid me not for shame! Wi' that saim speir O pierce my heart! And put me out o' pain. Since nothing bot Gill Morice head Thy jelous rage could quell, Let that saim hand now tak hir life, That neir to thee did ill.

To me nae after days nor nichts Will eir be saft or kind; I'll fill the air with heavy sighs, And greet till I am blind. Enouch of blood by me's been spilt, Seek not zour death frae mee; I rather lourd it had been my sel Than eather him or thee.

With waefo wae I hear zour plaint; Sair, sair I rew the deid, That eir this cursed hand of mine Had gard his body bleid. Dry up zour tears, my winsome dame, Ze neir can heal the wound; Ze see his head upon the speir, His heart's blude on the ground.

I curse the hand that did the deid, The heart that thocht the ill; The feet that bore me wi' sik speid, The comely zouth to kill. I'll ay lament for Gill Morice, As gin he were mine ain; I'll neir forget the dreiry day On which the zouth was slain.

THE CHILD of ELLE

On yondre 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 went, And stood at his garden pale, Whan, lo! he beheld fair Emmelines page Come trippinge downe the dale.

The Child of Elle he hyed him thence, Y-wis he stoode not stille, And soone he mette faire Emmelines page Come climbinge up the hille.

Nowe Christe thee save, thou little foot-page, Now Christe thee save and see! Oh telle me how does thy ladye gaye, And what may thy tydinges bee?

My ladye 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, Whan 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 countràye, And within three dayes she 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 bee at her bowre-windòwe, Betide me weale or woe.

The boye he tripped, the boye he ranne, He neither stint ne stayd Untill he came to fair Emmelines bowre, Whan kneeling downe he sayd,

O ladye, I've been with thine own true love, And he greets thee well by mee; This night will hee bee at thy bowre-windòwe, And dye or sett 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 ladyè, Tis I thy true love call.

Awake, awake, my ladye deare, Come, mount this faire palfràye: This ladder of ropes will lette thee downe He carrye thee hence awaye.

Nowe nay, nowe nay, thou gentle knight, Nowe nay, this may not bee; For aye shold I tint my maiden fame, If alone I should wend with thee.

O ladye, thou with a knighte so true Mayst safelye 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 daughtèr Awaye with a knight should fly

"Ah! well I wot, he never would rest, Nor his meate should doe him no goode, Until he hath slayne thee, Child of Elle, And scene thy deare hearts bloode."

O ladye, wert thou in thy saddle sette, And a little space him fro, I would not care for thy cruel fathèr, Nor the worst that he could doe.

O ladye, wert thou in thy saddle sette, And once without this walle, I would not care for thy cruel fathèr Nor the worst that might befalle.

Faire Emmeline sighed, fair Emmeline wept, And aye her heart was woe: At length he seized her lilly-white hand, And downe the ladder he drewe:

And thrice he clasped her to his breste, And kist her tenderlìe: The teares that fell from her fair eyes Ranne like the fountayne free.

Hee mounted himselfe on his steede so talle, And her on a fair palfràye, And slung his bugle about his necke, And roundlye they rode awaye.

All this beheard her owne damsèlle, In her bed whereas shee ley, Quoth shee, My lord shall knowe of this, Soe I shall have golde and fee.

Awake, awake, thou baron bolde! Awake, my noble dame! Your daughter is fledde with the Child of Elle To doe the deede of shame.

The baron he woke, the baron he rose, And called his merrye men all: "And come thou forth, Sir John the knighte, Thy ladye is carried to thrall."

Faire Emmeline scant had ridden a mile, A mile forth of the towne, When she was aware of her fathers men Come galloping over the downe:

And foremost came the carlish knight, Sir John of the north countràye: "Nowe stop, nowe stop, thou false traitòure, Nor carry that ladye awaye.

"For she is come of hye lineàge, And was of a ladye borne, And ill it beseems thee, a false churl's sonne, To carrye her hence to scorne."

Nowe loud thou lyest, Sir John the knight, Nowe thou doest lye of mee; A knight mee gott, and a ladye me bore, Soe never did none by thee

But light nowe downe, my ladye faire, Light downe, and hold my steed, While I and this discourteous knighte Doe trye this arduous deede.

But light now downe, my deare ladyè, Light downe, and hold my horse; While I and this discourteous knight Doe trye our valour's force.

Fair Emmeline sighed, fair Emmeline wept, And aye her heart was woe, While twixt her love and the carlish knight Past many a baleful blowe.

The Child of Elle hee fought so well, As his weapon he waved amaine, That soone he had slaine the carlish knight, And layd him upon the plaine.

And nowe the baron and all his men Full fast approached nye: Ah! what may ladye Emmeline doe Twere nowe no boote to flye.

Her lover he put his horne to his mouth, And blew both loud and shrill, And soone he saw his owne merry men Come ryding over the hill.

"Nowe hold thy hand, thou bold baròn, I pray thee hold thy hand, Nor ruthless rend two gentle hearts Fast knit in true love's band.

Thy daughter I have dearly loved Full long and many a day; But with such love as holy kirke Hath freelye sayd wee may.

O give consent, shee may be mine, And blesse a faithfull paire: My lands and livings are not small, My house and lineage faire:

My mother she was an earl's daughtèr, And a noble knyght my sire-- The baron he frowned, and turn'd away With mickle dole and ire.

Fair Emmeline sighed, faire Emmeline wept, And did all tremblinge stand: At lengthe she sprang upon her knee, And held his lifted hand.

Pardon, my lorde and father deare, This faire yong knyght and mee: Trust me, but for the carlish knyght, I never had fled from thee.

Oft have you called your Emmeline Your darling and your joye; O let not then your harsh resolves Your Emmeline destroye.

The baron he stroakt his dark-brown cheeke, And turned his heade asyde To whipe awaye the starting teare He proudly strave to hyde.

In deepe revolving thought he stoode, And mused a little space; Then raised faire Emmeline from the grounde, With many a fond embrace.

Here take her, Child of Elle, he sayd, And gave her lillye white hand; Here take my deare and only child, And with her half my land:

Thy father once mine honour wrongde In dayes of youthful pride; Do thou the injurye repayre In fondnesse for thy bride.

And as thou love her, and hold her deare, Heaven prosper thee and thine: And nowe my blessing wend wi' thee, My lovelye Emmeline.

CHILD WATERS

Childe Waters in his stable stoode And stroakt his milke white steede: To him a fayre yonge ladye came As ever ware womans weede.

Sayes, Christ you save, good Childe Waters; Sayes, Christ you save, and see: My girdle of gold that was too longe, Is now too short for mee.

And all is with one chyld of yours, I feel sturre att my side: My gowne of greene it is too straighte; Before, it was too wide.

If the child be mine, faire Ellen, he sayd, Be mine, as you tell mee; Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both, Take them your owne to bee.

If the childe be mine, fair Ellen, he sayd, Be mine, as you doe sweare; Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both, And make that child your heyre.

Shee saies, I had rather have one kisse, Child Waters, of thy mouth; Than I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both, That laye by north and south.

And I had rather have one twinkling, Childe Waters, of thine ee; Then I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both, To take them mine owne to bee.

To morrow, Ellen, I must forth ryde Farr into the north countrie; The fairest lady that I can find, Ellen, must goe with mee.

'Thoughe I am not that lady fayre, 'Yet let me go with thee:' And ever I pray you, Child Watèrs, Your foot-page let me bee.

If you will my foot-page be, Ellen, As you doe tell to mee; Then you must cut your gowne of greene, An inch above your knee:

Soe must you doe your yellow lockes, An inch above your ee: You must tell no man what is my name; My foot-page then you shall bee.

Shee, all the long day Child Waters rode, Ran barefoote by his side; Yett was he never soe courteous a knighte, To say, Ellen, will you ryde?

Shee, all the long day Child Waters rode, Ran barefoote thorow the broome; Yett hee was never soe curteous a knighte, To say, put on your shoone.

Ride softlye, shee sayd, O Childe Waters, Why doe you ryde soe fast? The childe, which is no mans but thine, My bodye itt will brast.

Hee sayth, seeth thou yonder water, Ellen, That flows from bank to brimme?-- I trust to God, O Child Waters, You never will see mee swimme.

But when shee came to the waters side, Shee sayled to the chinne: Except the Lord of heaven be my speed, Now must I learne to swimme.

The salt waters bare up her clothes; Our Ladye bare upp her chinne: Childe Waters was a woe man, good Lord, To see faire Ellen swimme.

And when shee over the water was, Shee then came to his knee: He said, Come hither, thou fair Ellèn, Loe yonder what I see.

Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellen? Of redd gold shines the yate; Of twenty foure faire ladyes there, The fairest is my mate.

Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellen? Of redd gold shines the towre: There are twenty four fair ladyes there, The fairest is my paramoure.

I see the hall now, Child Waters, Of redd golde shines the yate: God give you good now of yourselfe, And of your worthye mate.

I see the hall now, Child Waters, Of redd gold shines the towre: God give you good now of yourselfe, And of your paramoure.

There twenty four fayre ladyes were A playing att the ball: And Ellen the fairest ladye there, Must bring his steed to the stall.

There twenty four fayre ladyes were A playinge at the chesse; And Ellen the fayrest ladye there, Must bring his horse to gresse.

And then bespake Childe Waters sister, These were the wordes said shee: You have the prettyest foot-page, brother, That ever I saw with mine ee.

But that his bellye it is soe bigg, His girdle goes wonderous hie: And let him, I pray you, Childe Watères, Goe into the chamber with mee.

It is not fit for a little foot-page, That has run throughe mosse and myre, To go into the chamber with any ladye, That weares soe riche attyre.

It is more meete for a litle foot-page, That has run throughe mosse and myre, To take his supper upon his knee, And sitt downe by the kitchen fyer.

But when they had supped every one, To bedd they tooke theyr waye: He sayd, come hither, my little foot-page, And hearken what I saye.

Goe thee downe into yonder towne, And low into the street; The fayrest ladye that thou can finde,

Hyer her in mine armes to sleepe, And take her up in thine armes twaine, For filinge of her feete.