The baron he woke, the baron he rose, And called his merrye men all: "And come thou forth, Sir John the knighte, Thy ladye is carried to thrall." Faire Emmeline scant had ridden a mile, A mile forth of the towne, When she was aware of her fathers men Come galloping over the downe: And foremost came the carlish knight, Sir John of the north countràye: "Nowe stop, nowe stop, thou false traitòure, Nor carry that ladye awaye. "For she is come of hye lineàge, And was of a ladye borne, And ill it beseems thee, a false churl's sonne, To carrye her hence to scorne." Nowe loud thou lyest, Sir John the knight, Nowe thou doest lye of mee; A knight mee gott, and a ladye me bore, Soe never did none by thee But light nowe downe, my ladye faire, Light downe, and hold my steed, While I and this discourteous knighte Doe trye this arduous deede. But light now downe, my deare ladyè, Light downe, and hold my horse; While I and this discourteous knight Doe trye our valour's force. Fair Emmeline sighed, fair Emmeline wept, And aye her heart was woe, While twixt her love and the carlish knight Past many a baleful blowe. The Child of Elle hee fought so well, As his weapon he waved amaine, That soone he had slaine the carlish knight, And layd him upon the plaine. And nowe the baron and all his men Full fast approached nye: Ah! what may ladye Emmeline doe Twere nowe no boote to flye. Her lover he put his horne to his mouth, And blew both loud and shrill, And soone he saw his owne merry men Come ryding over the hill. "Nowe hold thy hand, thou bold baròn, I pray thee hold thy hand, Nor ruthless rend two gentle hearts Fast knit in true love's band. Thy daughter I have dearly loved Full long and many a day; But with such love as holy kirke Hath freelye sayd wee may. O give consent, shee may be mine, And blesse a faithfull paire: My lands and livings are not small, My house and lineage faire: My mother she was an earl's daughtèr, And a noble knyght my sire-- The baron he frowned, and turn'd away With mickle dole and ire. Fair Emmeline sighed, faire Emmeline wept, And did all tremblinge stand: At lengthe she sprang upon her knee, And held his lifted hand. Pardon, my lorde and father deare, This faire yong knyght and mee: Trust me, but for the carlish knyght, I never had fled from thee. Oft have you called your Emmeline Your darling and your joye; O let not then your harsh resolves Your Emmeline destroye. The baron he stroakt his dark-brown cheeke, And turned his heade asyde To whipe awaye the starting teare He proudly strave to hyde. In deepe revolving thought he stoode, And mused a little space; Then raised faire Emmeline from the grounde, With many a fond embrace.