Here take her, Child of Elle, he sayd, And gave her lillye white hand; Here take my deare and only child, And with her half my land: Thy father once mine honour wrongde In dayes of youthful pride; Do thou the injurye repayre In fondnesse for thy bride. And as thou love her, and hold her deare, Heaven prosper thee and thine: And nowe my blessing wend wi' thee, My lovelye Emmeline. [Illustration] CHILD WATERS Childe Waters in his stable stoode And stroakt his milke white steede: To him a fayre yonge ladye came As ever ware womans weede. Sayes, Christ you save, good Childe Waters; Sayes, Christ you save, and see: My girdle of gold that was too longe, Is now too short for mee. And all is with one chyld of yours, I feel sturre att my side: My gowne of greene it is too straighte; Before, it was too wide. If the child be mine, faire Ellen, he sayd, Be mine, as you tell mee; Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both, Take them your owne to bee. If the childe be mine, fair Ellen, he sayd, Be mine, as you doe sweare; Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both, And make that child your heyre. Shee saies, I had rather have one kisse, Child Waters, of thy mouth; Than I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both, That laye by north and south. And I had rather have one twinkling, Childe Waters, of thine ee; Then I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both, To take them mine owne to bee. To morrow, Ellen, I must forth ryde Farr into the north countrie; The fairest lady that I can find, Ellen, must goe with mee. 'Thoughe I am not that lady fayre, 'Yet let me go with thee:' And ever I pray you, Child Watèrs, Your foot-page let me bee. If you will my foot-page be, Ellen, As you doe tell to mee; Then you must cut your gowne of greene, An inch above your knee: Soe must you doe your yellow lockes, An inch above your ee: You must tell no man what is my name; My foot-page then you shall bee. Shee, all the long day Child Waters rode, Ran barefoote by his side; Yett was he never soe courteous a knighte, To say, Ellen, will you ryde? Shee, all the long day Child Waters rode, Ran barefoote thorow the broome; Yett hee was never soe curteous a knighte, To say, put on your shoone. Ride softlye, shee sayd, O Childe Waters, Why doe you ryde soe fast? The childe, which is no mans but thine, My bodye itt will brast. Hee sayth, seeth thou yonder water, Ellen, That flows from bank to brimme?-- I trust to God, O Child Waters, You never will see mee swimme. But when shee came to the waters side, Shee sayled to the chinne: Except the Lord of heaven be my speed, Now must I learne to swimme. The salt waters bare up her clothes; Our Ladye bare upp her chinne: Childe Waters was a woe man, good Lord, To see faire Ellen swimme.