| Share page | Visit Us On FB |
|
|
|||
|
174 |
SIR CAULINE. |
||
|
|
|||
|
THE FIRST PART. |
|||
|
|
|||
|
In Ireland, ferr over the sea,
There dwelleth a bonnye kinge ; And with him a yong and comlye knighte,
Men call him Syr Cauline.
The kinge had a ladye to his daughter, a
In fashyon she hath no peere ; And princely wightes that ladye wooed
To be theyr wedded feere.
Syr Cauline loveth her best of all,
But nothing durst he saye, 10
Ne descreeve his counsayl to no man,
But deerlye he lovde this may.
Till on a daye it so beffell
Great dill to him was dight; The maydens love removde his mynd, is
To care-bed went the knighte.
One while he spred his armes him fro,
One while he spred them nye : " And aye! but I winne that ladyes love,
For dole now I mun dye." 20 |
|||
|
|
|||