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Then soon I past the seas from Greece,

And came to Pavye land aright:
Where I the duke of Pavye killed,

His hainous treason to requite.
To England then I came with speede,

To wedd faire Phelis lady bright:
For love of whome I travelled farr

To try my manhood and my might. But when I had espoused her,

I stayd with her but fortye dayes, Ere that I left this ladye faire,

And went from her beyond the seas. All cladd in gray, in pilgrim sort,

My voyage from her I did take Unto the blessed Holy-land,

For Jesus Christ my Saviours sake. Where I erle Jonas did redeeme,

And all his sonnes, which were fifteene, Who with the cruell Sarazens,

In prison for long time had beene. I slew the giant Amarant

In battel fiercelye hand to hand: And doughty Barknard killed I,

A treacherous knight of Pavye land Then I to England came againe,

And here with Colbronde fell I fought: An ugly gyant which the Danes

Had for their champion hither brought. I overcame him in the feild,

And slewe him soone right valliantlye; Whereby this land I did redeeme

From Danish tribute utterlye.

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And afterwards I offered upp

The use of weapons solemnlye At Winchester, whereas I fought,

In sight of manye far and nye. “But first,' near Winsor, I did slaye

A bore of passing might and strength; Whose like in England never was

For hugenesse both in bredth and length. Some of his bones in Warwicke yett

Within the castle there doe lye: One of his sheeld-bones to this day

Hangs in the citye of Coventrye.

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On Dunsmore heath I alsoe slewe

A monstrous wyld and cruell beast, Calld the Dun-cow of Dunsmore heath;

Which manye people had opprest. Some of her bones in Warwicke yett

Still for a monument doe lye; And there expos’d to lookers viewe

As wonderous strange, they may espye.
A dragon in Northumberland

I alsoe did in fight destroye,
Which did bothe man and beast oppresse,

And all the countrye sore annoye.
At length to Warwicke I did come,

Like pilgrim poore, and was not knowne; And there I lived a hermitts life

A mile and more out of the towne.

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Where with my hands I hewed a house

Out of a craggy rocke of stone;

V. 94, 102, doth lye. MS.

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And lived like a palmer poore

Within that cave myself alone:
And daylye came to begg my bread

Of Phelis att my castle gate;
Not knowne unto my loved wiffe,

Who dailye mourned for her mate.
Till att the last I fell sore sicke,

Yea sicke soe sore that I must dye;
I sent to her a ring of golde,

By which shee knewe me presentlye.
Then shee repairing to the cave

Before that I gave up the ghost;
Herself closd up my dying eyes:

My Phelis faire, whom I lovd most.
Thus dreadful death did me arrest,

To bring my corpes unto the grave;
And like a palmer dyed I,

Wherby I sought my soule to save.
My body that endured this toyle,

Though now it be consumed to mold;
My statue faire engraven in stone,

In Warwicke still you may behold.

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II.

Guy and amarant. Tus Editor found this poem in his ancient folio manuscript among the old ballads; he was desirous, therefore, that it should still accompany them; and as it is not altogether devoid of merit, its insertion here will be pardoned. Although this piece seems not imperfect, there is reason

ve that it is only a part of a much larger poem, which

contained the whole history of Sir Guy: for, upon comparing it with the common story-book, 12mo, we find the latter to be nothing more than this poem reduced to prose: which is only effected by now and then altering the rhyme, and throwing out some few of the poetical ornaments. The disguise is so slight, that it is an easy matter to pick complete stanzas in any page of that book.

The author of this poem has shown some invention. Though he took the subject from the old romance quoted before, he has adorned it afresh, and made the story entirely

his own.

Guy journeyes towards that sanctifyed ground,

Whereas the Jewes fayre citye sometime stood,
Wherin our Saviours sacred head was crownd,

And where for sinfull man he shed his blood:
To see the sepulcher was his intent,
The tombe that Joseph unto Jesus lent.

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With tedious miles he tyred his wearye feet,

And passed desart places full of danger, At last with a most woefull wight1 did meet,

A man that unto sorrow was noe stranger: For he had fifteen sonnes, made captives all To slavish bondage, in extremest thrall.

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A gyant called Amarant detaind them,

Whom noe man durst encounter for his strength: Who in a castle, which he held, had chaind them:

Guy questions, where? and understands at length The place not farr. — Lend me thy sword, quoth hee, Ile lend my manhood all thy sonnes to free.

With that he goes, and lays upon the dore,

Like one that sayes, I must, and will come in:

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1 Frle Jonas, mentioned in the foregoing ballad.

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The gyant never was soe rowz'd before:

For noe such knocking at his gate had bin :
Soe takes his keyes, and clubb, and cometh out
Staring with ireful countenance about.
Sirra, quoth hee, what busines hast thou heere?

Art come to feast the crowes about my walls?
Didst never heare, noe ransome can him cleere,

That in the compasse of my furye falls:
For making me to take a porters paines,
With this same clubb I will dash out thy braines.
Gyant, quoth Guy, y'are quarrelsome I see,

Choller and you seem very neere of kin:
Most dangerous at the clubb belike you bee;

I have bin better armd, though nowe goe thin; But shew thy utmost hate, enlarge thy spight, Keene is my weapon,

and shall doe me right Soe draws his sword, salutes him with the same

About the head, the shoulders, and the side:
Whilst his erected clubb doth death proclaime,

Standinge with huge Colossus' spacious stride,
Putting such vigour to his knotty beame,
That like a furnace he did smoke extreame.

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But on the ground he spent his strokes in vaine,

For Guy was nimble to avoyde them still,
And ever ere he heav'd his clubb againe,

Did brush his plated coat against his will:
Att such advantage Guy wold never fayle,
To bang him soundlye in his coate of mayle.
Att last through thirst the gyant feeble grewe,

And sayd to Guy, As thou’rt of humane race,
Shew itt in this, give natures wants their dewe,

Let me but goe, and drinke in yonder place: Thou canst not yeeld to 'me' a smaller thing, Than to graunt life, thats given by the spring.

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