The king a royale Christmasse kept,
With mirth and princelye cheare;
To him repaired many a knighte,
That came both farre and neare.

And when they were to dinner sette,
And cups went freely round;
Before them came a faire damfèlle,
And knelt upon the ground.

A boonę, a boone, O kinge Arthùre,
I beg a boone of thee;

Avenge me of a carlish knighte,

Who hath fhent my love and mee.

In Tearne-Wadling his caftle stands,
All on a hill foe hye,

And proudlye rife the battlements,
And gaye the streameres flye.

Noe gentle knighte, nor ladye faire,
May pass that caftle-walle:

But from that foule difcurteous knighte,
Mishappe will them befalle.

Hee's twyce the fize of common men,

Wi' thewes, and finewes ftronge,

And on his backe he bears a clubbe,

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That is both thicke and longe.

Goe tell, fayd hee, that cuckold kinge,
To meete mee if he dare.

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Upp then fterted king Arthure,

And sware by hille and dale,

He ne'er wolde quitt that grimme baròne
Till he had made him quail.

Nowe, by my faye, that grimme baròne

Shall rue this ruthulle deede.

And when he came to Tearne Wadlinge

Benethe the castle walle :

"Come forth; come forth; thou proude baròne,

Or yielde thyfelf my thralle."

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On magicke grounde that caftle ftoode,

And fenc'd with many a spelle:

Noe valiant knighte could tread thereon,
But ftraite his courage felle.

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Forth

Forth then rush'd that carlish knight,

King Arthur felte the charme :
His fturdy finewes loft their ftrengthe,

Downe funke his feeble årme.

Nowe yield thee, yield thee, kinge Arthùre,

Now yield thee, unto mee:

Or fighte with mee, or lofe thy lande,
Noe better termes maye bee.

Unleffe thou fweare upon the rood,
And promife on thy faye,

Here to returne to Tearne Wadling,
Upon the new-yeare's daye :

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And bringe me worde what thing it is
All women mofte defyre:

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This is thy ranfome, Arthur, he fayes,

Some told him riches, pompe, or state;

Some rayment fine and brighte; Some told him mirthe; fome flatterye ;

And fome a jollye knighte.

In letteres all king Arthur wrote,

And feal'd them with his ringe :

But ftill his minde was helde in doubte,
Each tolde a different thinge.

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What wight art thou, the ladye fayd,
That wilt not speake to mee;
Sir, I may chance to ease thy paine,
Though I bee foule to fee.

If thou wilt eafe my paine, he fayd,

And helpe me in my neede;

Afk what thou wilt, thou grimme ladyè,

And it shall bee thy meede.

O fweare mee this upon
And promife on thy faye;

the roode,

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And here the fecrette I will telle,
That shall thy ransome paye.

King Arthur promis'd on his faye,
And sware upon the roode ;

The fecrette then the ladye told,

As lightlye well shee cou'de.

Now this shall be my paye, fir king,

And this my guerdon bee,

That fome yong, fair and courtlye knight,

Thou bringe to marrye mee.

Faft then pricked king Arthùre

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Ore hille, and dale, and downe :

And foone he founde the barone's bowre;

And foone the grimme baroùne.

He