Many of the interpolations acknowledged in such general terms might with some confidence be pointed out. Among them are certainly most, if not all, of the last twelve stanzas of the Second Part, which include the catastrophe to the story. It is difficult to believe that this charming romance had so tragic and so sentimental a conclusion. The first part of this ballad is preserved in Scotland, under the title of _King Malcolm and Sir Colvin_, and is printed in our Appendix from Buchan's collection. In this, Sir Colvin weds the princess after his victory over the Elrick knight. THE FIRST PART. In Ireland, ferr over the sea, There dwelleth a bonnye kinge; And with him a yong and comlye knighte, Men call him Syr Cauline. The kinge had a ladye to his daughter, 5 In fashyon she hath no peere; And princely wightes that ladye wooed To be theyr wedded feere. Syr Cauline loveth her best of all, But nothing durst he saye, 10 Ne descreeve his counsayl to no man, But deerlye he lovde this may. Till on a daye it so beffell Great dill to him was dight; The maydens love removde his mynd, 15 To care-bed went the knighte. One while he spred his armes him fro, One while he spred them nye: "And aye! but I winne that ladyes love, For dole now I mun dye." 20 And whan our parish-masse was done, Our kinge was bowne to dyne: He sayes, "Where is Syr Cauline, That is wont to serve the wyne?" Then aunswerde him a courteous knighte, 25 And fast his handes gan wringe: "Syr Cauline is sicke, and like to dye, Without a good leechinge." "Fetche me downe my daughter deere, She is a leeche fulle fine; 30 Goe take him doughe and the baken bread, And serve him with the wyne soe red: Lothe I were him to tine." Fair Christabelle to his chaumber goes, Her maydens followyng nye: 35 "O well," she sayth, "how doth my lord?" "O sicke, thou fayr ladye." "Nowe ryse up wightlye, man, for shame, Never lye soe cowardlee; For it is told in my fathers halle 40 You dye for love of mee." "Fayre ladye, it is for your love That all this dill I drye: For if you wold comfort me with a kisse, Then were I brought from bale to blisse, 45 No lenger wold I lye." "Sir knighte, my father is a kinge, I am his onlye heire; Alas! and well you knowe, syr knighte, I never can be youre fere." 50 "O ladye, thou art a kinges daughter, And I am not thy peere; But let me doe some deedes of armes, To be your bacheleere."