The Oxford Book of Ballads - online book

A Selection Of The Best English Lyric Ballads Chosen & Edited by Arthur Quiller-Couch

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' But rise up wightlye, man, for shame !
Ne'er lie here soe cowardlye ! Itt is told in my father's hall
For my love you will dye.'
i Itt is for your love, fayre ladye,
That all this dill I drie ; For if you wo'ld comfort me with a kisse, Then were I brought from bale to bliss,
No longer here wo'ld I lye.'
' Alas! soe well you know, Sir Knight, I cannot be your feere.'
'  Yet some deeds of armes fain wo'ld I doe
To be your bacheleere.'
' On Eldritch Hill there grows a thorn,
Upon the mores brodinge; And wo'ld you, Sir Knight, wake there all night To day of the other morninge ? xv
For the Eldritch King, that is mickle of might,
Will examine you beforne: There was never a man bare his life away Since the day that I was born.'
i But I will for your sake, ladye,
Walk on the bents soe browne, And I'll either bring you a readye token,
Or I'll ne'er come to you again.'
wightlye] briskly, stoutly.          mores] moors.         brodinge]
growing, sprouting.         examine] put to the test.         beforne]
before (morning). bents] rough grasses. 16
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