Sir Hugh and the Maiden.
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NERE to Carleile there dwells a Knight
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Of gode and comlye meine,
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If I this storie tell aright,
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And folkes take what I meane.
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His Castle is as faire a one
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As any in the Lande,
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And round about bedight with Towers,
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Nere Engishe wood did stande.
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Sir Hugh this Knight was called,
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A bold Knights son was he,
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That ever faut with shynand brande,
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Or ever bent on a knee.
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His Ladie was of goodly make,
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Her Chekes were of redde and white,
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A comlier face was never sene
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With glimmering eyn so brighte.
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Her Fathir he had many a Tower,
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Of Lynage proude was he,
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And many a house with costly Bowere,
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He geide for a Dowrie.
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Ella she keeped a false woman,
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For that was our Ladies name,
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A falser woman shure never was borne,
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Than into this Castle came.
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She would have layne by her ain Master,
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If she thought he wold not say naye,
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For she wished to ruin her gode Ladie,
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And get her a turned away.
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So traitory Stories she often wolde telle,
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Her Mystress to undo,
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Which coming to the Knights heering,
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Did cause him very sore wo.
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He writhed his minde baithe backe and fro,
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And aie he doubled his brow,
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For he wished to ha that wily Knight
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Who crackened his wifes false vow.
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And He offered to them, whoever wolde telle
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Who this Knight sholde be
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That wroght him wrothe in his Castle,
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Sholde have lande and golden fee,
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Gladd was the Maiden when she did finde
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The Knight was stricken with baile,
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Then slilye she hyed her till his Bowere,
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And spake her falsing tail.
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I come frae your Wife as I ha life,
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Your Wife who is false to thee,
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And if I mayeste tell what I ha sene,
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I sertenly killed sholde be.
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Speik on, speik on my maiden dear,
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Be it truei thou telleist to mee,
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A Boone thou shalle ha, and to boote I wille grant
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Much Goulde and goode Cuntrie.
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O nere wille I slepe till I ha wreked
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My Sweards pointe in his bluide,
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The micklest Vilane that ever has wente
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Tween this and Engish wood.
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O Sir, quoth the Maiden, he is nae Knight,
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But a Man of lowe degree,
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And when the Sunne is slepein owre the hill,
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At thy Ladyes Bowre Window hell be.
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Ycladd in your best graine doublet
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And your hode he is bedight,
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To make the folke thinke he is Sir Hugh,
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And not a stranger knight.
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Now anger and crumpling jeelousie
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Did our Knights harte torment,
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He swore to the Maiden by the Holy-roode,
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That his fere he wolde ha brent.
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Helle tak thee thou carlish thiefe,
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To nighte I wroken shall be,
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Bathe of The and my aine false wife,
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That I once loved tenderlie.
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The Knight he striken his heid and his briest,
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And moned most wofullye,
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He grindled his teeth and rolled his eyn,
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And jumpted most myghtilie.
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For many a wondrous syhe he guide,
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His hart was grieved so,
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The case of which he thoughe twas truei,
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As you shalle speedelye knoe.
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Then away sped the Maiden, like a braide arrowe
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Shotten frae a trustie Bowe,
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For liken till, whilk alway dothe scathe
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Where ever it may goe.
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She sped to her Mystresse her for to telle,
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Her Mystresse once so deere,
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A false leasinge taile of her owne dear Knight,
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Which you shalle quicklye heere.
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O Ladie quoth she, what I speik to thee
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Leeve it is very truei,
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This eene thy Knight at eventide
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I trowe another will wou.
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O wo till you quoth the Knights Ladie,
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Grammercye on your soulle,
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If it be false what I this day trow,
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You shalle dye ere the Curfeu knowles.
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O Ladie deere as I hope to ha feere,
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The howre I am going to dye,
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It is not false, but true as I live,
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What I ha telled to thee.
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And more, at nicht they ha agreede
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In youre best bower to meete,
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To passe the time unkenned to you,
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And brok with kisses sweete.
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Faire Ella was greeved to the hartes life,
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And sore perplexed was she,
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She vowede to Saint Johne that if it be so
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I sertanelye wroken will bee.
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Heere sayde the Maiden tak my cleadinge,
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And till youre little bowere hye,
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For there you will witte what is doinge
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Thrueghe the windowe secretlye.
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The suthe hadd changedd ether cleadinge,
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The Mystresse the Maidens did weare,
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And proud was the false one so bedecked
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All in her Ladyes geer.
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This wicked jaide had theretoe biddenn
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One more of her varletts vile,
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To go to her Ladyes little bowere
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And murdeir her the while.
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When it was darke the menn did cum,
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As the Maiden telled to theye,
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For theye were as wicked as she herselle
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In the wylles of lecherye
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They all beene com and the Knyghte also,
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Under the greene woode Tre,
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He stopped awhile with his Sweard in his hand,
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Till he his fere mighte see.
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The Maiden to the windowe did goe,
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To stande there for awhile
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And showe her face to the carlish man,
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The Knighte for to begyle.
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The Knight when he saw his Ladyes face,
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He at the carlish man flue,
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And he strickened him with his Sweard edge,
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And thrusten him threugh and through.
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Lye there and die sayde the angrie Knight,
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Whose Lege-man ever ye bee,
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Such mickle nere went on earth,
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As two like you and shee.
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At the same tyme all in the bowere,
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The like was doinge also
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But instead of the Mistresse the man didd strike
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The Maiden a wofull blow.
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Sir Hugh cummin in to catche his wife,
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Astounded he was to see
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That she was all bluidye, and on the Ground
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Moning most pitioueslye.
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But when he kenned that it was the Maiden
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Y Busked in his Ladies Geere,
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Where is my fere, what man is this,
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Some traitorye I do feere.
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Ha mercye, ha mercye, sayde the Maiden,
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On my poore dyeinge Shrive,
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For I am the wickedeste of woman,
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That ever was borne alive.
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Forgive, forgive before I die,
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And I will tell you all,
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I do forgive you you wicked maiden,
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As ever came in a Hall.
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O then, Sir Knighte, your Ladye deer
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The Carle was to have Slayne,
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In hope that when you lost your fere
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I shoulde ha beene your aine.
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Or if she had not killed been,
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I wanted to torment
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Your harte, with falsinge tailles of her,
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And so to ha her brent.
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The Ladye all this while stoode bye,
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Busked in the Maids attyre,
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Nor could she speik a single motte,
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She choked so with ire.
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Here tak thy Ladye good Sir Hugh,
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For a truere one nere can bee,
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There is never a Knighte in all Englande
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Has one fairer or maire comelie.
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The Knighte he clasped her in his arms,
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My Wife, my sweete Ladie,
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See this vyle Maidden getteth the pane
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She meened for you and me.
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Mayeste alwayes syke luck the willye have,
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My prayers shalle alway bee,
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That themselfes maye alyke be catcheatt
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In their on treachorye.
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