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SIK CAULINE. 175
And whan our parish-masse was done,
Our kinge was bowne to dyne: He sayes, " Where is Syr Cauline,
That is wont to serve the wyne ? "
Then aunswerde him a courteous knighte, as
And fast his handes gan wringe : " Syr Cauline is sicke, and like to dye,
"Without a good leechinge."
" Fetche me downe my daughter deere,
She is a leeche fulle fine; 30
Goe take him doughe and the baken bread, And serve him with the wyne soe red: Lothe I were him to tine."
Fair Christabelle to his chaumber goes,
Her maydens followyng nye : as
" O well," she sayth, " how doth my lord ? " " 0 sicke, thou fayr ladye."
" Nowe ryse up wightlye, man, for shame,
Never lye soe cowardlee ; For it is told in my fathers halle «o
You dye for love of mee."
" Fayre ladye, it is for your love'
That all this dill I drye : For if you wold comfort me with a kisse,