Giffe I were a man, as now I am none, A battell wold I prove, To fight with that traitor Aldingar, Att him I cast my glove. But seeing Ime able noe battell to make, My liege, grant me a knight To fight with that traitor Sir Aldingar, To maintaine me in my right. "Now forty dayes I will give thee To seeke thee a knight therein: If thou find not a knight in forty dayes Thy bodye it must brenn." Then shee sent east, and shee sent west, By north and south bedeene: But never a champion colde she find, Wolde fight with that knight soe keene. Now twenty dayes were spent and gone, Noe helpe there might be had; Many a teare shed our comelye queene And aye her hart was sad. Then came one of the queenes damsèlles, And knelt upon her knee, "Cheare up, cheare up, my gracious dame, I trust yet helpe may be: And here I will make mine avowe, And with the same me binde; That never will I return to thee, Till I some helpe may finde." Then forth she rode on a faire palfràye Oer hill and dale about: But never a champion colde she finde, Wolde fighte with that knight so stout. And nowe the daye drewe on a pace, When our good queene must dye; All woe-begone was that faire damsèlle, When she found no helpe was nye. All woe-begone was that faire damsèlle, And the salt teares fell from her eye: When lo! as she rode by a rivers side, She met with a tinye boye. A tinye boye she mette, God wot, All clad in mantle of golde; He seemed noe more in mans likenèsse, Then a childe of four yeere old. Why grieve you, damselle faire, he sayd, And what doth cause you moane? The damsell scant wolde deigne a looke, But fast she pricked on. Yet turne againe, thou faire damsèlle And greete thy queene from mee: When bale is att hyest, boote is nyest, Nowe helpe enoughe may bee. Bid her remember what she dreamt In her bedd, wheras shee laye; How when the grype and grimly beast Wolde have carried her crowne awaye, Even then there came the little gray hawke, And saved her from his clawes: Then bidd the queene be merry at hart, For heaven will fende her cause. Back then rode that faire damsèlle, And her hart it lept for glee: And when she told her gracious dame A gladd woman then was shee: But when the appointed day was come, No helpe appeared nye: Then woeful, woeful was her hart, And the teares stood in her eye. And nowe a fyer was built of wood; And a stake was made of tree; And now Queene Elinor forth was led, A sorrowful sight to see. Three times the herault he waved his hand, And three times spake on hye: Giff any good knight will fende this dame, Come forth, or shee must dye. No knight stood forth, no knight there came, No helpe appeared nye: And now the fyer was lighted up, Queen Elinor she must dye.