Ballade.

Untill he had revivde againe

Her fenfes milde and meeke.

Why grieves my Rofe, my sweetest Rose?
The King did often fay.

Becaufe, quoth fhee, to bloodye warres
My lord muft part awaye.

But fince your grace on forrayne coaftes
Amonge your foes unkinde
Muft goe to hazard life and limbe,
Why should I staye behinde?

Nay rather, let me, like a page,
Your fworde and target beare;
That on my breast the blowes may lighte,
Which would offend you there.

Or lett mee, in your royal tent,
Prepare your bed at nighte,

And with fweete baths refresh your grace,
At your returne from fighte.

So I your prefence may enjoye
No toil will refuse;

But wanting you, my life is death;
Nay death Ild rather chufe!

Faire ladies brooke not bloodye warres;

Soft peace their fexe delightes;

Not rugged campes, but courtlye bowers;
Gay feaftes, not cruell fightes.

My Rofe fhall fafely here abide,
With muficke passe the daye;

Whilft I, amonge the piercing pikes,
My foes feeke far awaye.

My

My Rofe fhall fhine in pearle and golde,
Whilft I me in armour dighte;
Gay galliards here my love fhall dance,
Whilft I my foes goe fighte.

And you, Sir Thomas, whom I trufte
To bee my loves defence,
Be carefull of my gallant Rofe
When I am parted hence."

And therewithall he fetcht a figh,
As though his heart would breake:
And Rofamonde, for very griefe,

Not one plaine word could fpeake.

And at their parting well they mighte
In heart be grieved fore;

After that daye faire Rofamonde
The King did fee no more,

For when his grace had paft the feas,
And into France was gone;
With envious heart, queene Ellinor,
To Woodstocke came anone.

And forth fhe calles this truftye knighte,
In an unhappy houre;

Who with his clue of twined thread,
Came from this famous bower.

Ballade.

And drinke thou up this deadlye draught,
Which I have brought to thee.

Then presentlye upon her knees
Sweet Rofamonde did falle;
And pardon of the queene fhe crav'd
For her offences all.

Take pitty on my youthfull yeares,
" Fair Rofamonde did crye;

And lett mee not with poifon ftronge
Enforced bee to dye.

I will renounce my finfull life,
And in fome cloyster bide;
Or else be banifht, if you please,
To range the world foe wide.

And for the fault which I have done,
Though I was forc'd theretoe,
Preferve my life, and punifh mee
As you thinke meet to doe."

And with thefe words, her lillie handes
She wrunge full often there;
And down along her lovely face
Did trickle many a teare.

But nothing could this furious queene
Therewith appeased bee;

The cup of deadlye poifon ftronge,
As fhe knelt on her knee,'

Shee gave this comelye dame to drinke,
Who tooke it in her hand,
And from her bended knee arofe,

And on her feet did ftand:

And cafting up her eyes to heaven,
Shee did for mercye calle;

And drinking up the poifon ftronge,
Her life fhe loft withalle.

And

Dr. Percy gab diese Ballade in f. Reliques, T. III. P. 78. aus einem alten Abdruck unter der Aufschrift :` A tragical ballad on the unfortunate love of lord Thomas and fair Ellinor, together with the downfall of the brown girl. Auch führt er an, daß sie hernach in einem andern Sylbenz maaß modernisirt sey. In den von Herrn Urfinus herauss gegebenen Balladen und Liedern, S. 68 ff. steht fie gleichfalls, mit einer von mir versuchten Uebersezung. Eine andre gab Bodmer, in seinen Altengl. Balladen, B. I. S. 106.

LORD Thomas he was a bold forrester,
And a chafer of the Kings deere;

Faire Ellinor was a fine woman,

And lord Thomas he loved her deare.

Come riddle my riddle, dear mother, he fayd,
And riddle us both as one;

Whether I fhall marrye with faire Ellinòr,
And let the browne girl alone?

The browne girl fhe has got houfes and lands,
Faire Ellinor fhe has got none,

And therefore I charge thee on my blefling,
To bring me the browne girl home,

Ballade. And as it befelle on a high holidaye
As many there are befide,

Lord Thomas he went to faire Ellinor,
That fhould have been his bride.

And when he came to faire Ellinors bower,
He knocked there at the ring,

And who was fo readye as faire Ellinor,
To lett lord Thomas withinn.

What newes, what newes, lord Thomas, she said?

ཝཱ

What newes doft thou bring to mee?

I am come to bid thee to my weddin,
And that is bad newes for thee.

O God forbid, lord Thomas, fhe fayd,
That fuch a thing fhould be done;
I thought to have been thy bride my felfe,
And thou to have been the bridegrome.

Come riddle my riddle, dear mother, fhe fayd,
And riddle it all in one;

Whether I fhall goe to lord Thomas his wedding,
Or whether fhall tarry at home?

There are manye that are your friendes, daughter,
And manye that are your foe,

Therefore I charge you on my blessing,

To lord Thomas his wedding don't goe.

There are manye that are my friendes, mother;
But if thousands there were my foe,

Betide me life, betide me death,

To lord Thomas his wedding Ild goe.

She cloathed herself in gallant attire,
And her merrye men all in greene,
And as they rid through everye towne,
They took her to be fome queene.

But when he came to lord Thomas his gate,
She knocked there at the ring;

And