"Some deedes of armes if thou wilt doe, 55 My bacheleere to bee, (But ever and aye my heart wold rue, Giff harm shold happe to thee,) "Upon Eldridge hill there groweth a thorne, Upon the mores brodinge; 60 And dare ye, syr knighte, wake there all nighte, Untile the fayre morninge? "For the Eldridge knighte, so mickle of mighte, Will examine you beforne; And never man bare life awaye, 65 But he did him scath and scorne. "That knighte he is a foul paynim, And large of limb and bone; And but if heaven may be thy speede, Thy life it is but gone." 70 "Nowe on the Eldridge hilles Ile walke, For thy sake, fair ladie; And Ile either bring you a ready token, Or Ile never more you see." The lady has gone to her own chaumbere, 75 Her maydens following bright; Syr Cauline lope from care-bed soone, And to the Eldridge hills is gone, For to wake there all night. Unto midnight, that the moone did rise, 80 He walked up and downe; Then a lightsome bugle heard he blowe Over the bents soe browne; Quoth hee, "If cryance come till my heart, I am ffar from any good towne." 85 And soone he spyde on the mores so broad A furyous wight and fell; A ladye bright his brydle led, Clad in a fayre kyrtell: And soe fast he called on Syr Cauline, 90 "O man, I rede thee flye, For but if cryance come till thy heart,[L92] I weene but thou mun dye." He sayth, "No cryance comes till my heart,[L94] Nor, in faith, I wyll not flee; 95 For, cause thou minged not Christ before, The less me dreadeth thee." The Eldridge knighte, he pricked his steed; Syr Cauline bold abode: Then either shooke his trustye speare, 100 And the timber these two children bare Soe soone in sunder slode. Then tooke they out theyr two good swordes, And layden on full faste, Till helme and hawberke, mail and sheelde, 105 They all were well-nye brast. The Eldridge knight was mickle of might, And stiffe in stower did stande; But Syr Cauline with an aukeward stroke He smote off his right-hand; 110 That soone he, with paine and lacke of bloud, Fell downe on that lay-land. Then up Syr Cauline lift his brande All over his head so hye: "And here I sweare by the holy roode, 115 Nowe, caytiffe, thou shalt dye." Then up and came that ladye brighte, Faste ringing of her hande: "For the maydens love, that most you love, Withhold that deadlye brande: 120