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SIR CATILINE. 187
But every knighte of his round table
Did stand both still and pale ; For, whenever they lookt on the grim Soldan,
It made their hearts to quail.
All woe-begone was that fayre ladye, us
When she sawe no helpe was nye:
She cast her thought on her owne true-love, And the teares gusht from her eye.
Up then sterte the stranger knighte,
Sayd, " Ladye, be not affrayd; 120
He fight for thee with this grimme Soldan, 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 :
Nowe, heaven assist thee, courteous knighte ; My daughter is thy meede." is"
The gyaunt he stepped into the lists,
And sayd, " Awaye, awaye! I sweare, as I am the hend Soldan,
Thou lettest me here all daye." |
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