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She stepp'd to him as red as any rose,
Catching hold of his bridle-ring: “ Pray you, kind sir, give me one penny,
To ease my weary limb.”
“I prithee sweet-heart, can'ít thou tell me,
Where that thou wast born." At Illington, kind fir, said she,
Where I have had many a scorn.
“ I prithee, fweet-heart, can't thou tell me,
Whether thou doft know
of She's dead, fir, long ago.”
“ Then will I fell my goodly steed, My saddle and
my I will into some far country,
Where no man doth me know."
“ O ftay, O ftay, thou goodly youth,
She's alive, she is not dead ; Here she ftandeth by thy fide,
And is ready to be thy bride.”,
“O farewell grief, and welcome joy,
Ten thousand times and more ;
That I thought I should have seen no more !"
B ALLA D
B A L L A D XI.
THE KING OF FRANCE'S DAUGHTER. *
N the days of old,
When fair France did flourish,
Lovers felt annoy :
Beauteous, fair, and lovely,
She was his only joy ;
He woo'd her long, and lo, at laft,
Their hearts in one were linked fast.
And tormented in his mind!
Fortune crossed lovers kind.
• The full title in the old copies, is “ An excellent ballad of a prince of Englands courtship to the king of France's daughter, and how the prince was disasterously Nain, and how the aforesaid princess was afterwards married to a Forrester,"
When these princes twain
Were thus barrd of pleasure, Through the kings disdain,
Which their joys with tood: The lady lock'd up close
Her jewels and her treasure,
Of state and royal blood :
To meet her love and hearts delight :
To wait her coming in the night:
Chanced as he sat alone ;
Uttering many a dying groan.
The princess armed by him,
And by true desire, Wandering all that night,
Without dread at all I; Still unknown the pass'd,
In her strange attire,
Within echos call,
Harbouring my hearts delight :
Which doth encompass here,
My trusty friend and comely knight.
That thou may’ft not angry be,
Amends for all I'll make to thee.
Paffing thus alone,
Through the filent forest, Many a grievous groan,
Sounded in her ear ; Where she heard a man
To lament the forest Chance that ever came ;
Forc'd by deadly ftrife, Farewell, my dear, quoth he, Whom I Mall, never see,
For why my life is at an end ;
To show I am a faithful friend :
On the rarest beauty found;
My hearts blood lies on the ground.
With that he gave a groan,
That did break alunder All the tender ftrings
Of his gentle heart; She who knew his voice,
At his tale did wonder, All her former joys
Did to grief convert : Straight the ran to see, Who this man ihould be,
That so like her love did speak;
Smear'd in blood, which life did break:
Her sorrows could not counted be ;
Would God that I had died for thee!
His pale lips, alas !
Twenty times the killed, And his face did wash
With her brinish tears ; Every bleeding wound,
Her fair face bedewed, Wiping off the blood
With her golden hair : Speak, my love, quoth the, Speak, dear prince, to me,