28 Ffirst he p_re_sented to the k_ing_s daughter The hand, and then the sword, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . * * * * * * * 29 'But a serre buffett you haue him giuen, The k_ing_ and the crowne,' shee sayd: 'I, but four and _th_irty stripes Comen beside the rood.' 30 And a gyant that was both stiffe [and] strong, He lope now them amonge, And vpon his squier fiue heads he bare, Vnmackley made was hee. 31 And he dranke then on the k_ing_s wine, And hee put the cup in his sleeue, And all thé trembled and were wan, Ffor feare he shold them greeffe. 32 'Ile tell thee mine arrand, k_ing_,' he sayes, 'Mine errand what I doe heere; Ffor I will bren thy temples hye, Or Ile haue thy daughter deere; I, or else vpon yond more soe brood Thou shalt ffind mee a ppeare.' 33 The k_ing_ he turned him round about, Lo_rd_, in his heart he was woe! Says, Is there noe k_nigh_t of the Round Table This matter will vndergoe? 34 'I, and hee shall haue my broad lands, And keepe them well his liue; I, and soe hee shall my daughter deere, To be his weded wiffe.' 35 And then stood vp S_i_r Cawline, His owne errand ffor to say: 'Ifaith, I wold to God, S_i_r,' sayd S_i_r Cawline, '_Tha_t soldan I will assay. 36 'Goe ffeitch me downe my eldrige sword, Ffor I woone itt att ffray:' 'But away, away!' sayd the hend soldan, 'Thou tarryest mee here all day!' 37 But the hend soldan and S_i_r Cawline Thé ffought a sum_m_ers day; Now has hee slaine _tha_t hend soldan, And brought his fiue heads away. 38 And the k_ing_ has betaken him his broade lands, And all his venison; . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39 'But take you doo and yo_u_r lands [soe] broad, And brooke them well yo_u_r liffe; Ffor you p_ro_mised mee yo_u_r daughter deere, To be my weded wiffe.' 40 'Now by my ffaith,' then sayes our k_ing_, 'Ffor _tha_t wee will not striffe, Ffor thou shalt haue my daughter dere, To be thy weded wiffe.' 41 The other morninge S_i_r Cawline rose By the dawning of the day, And vntill a garden did he goe His mattins ffor to say; And _tha_t bespyed a ffalse steward, A shames death _tha_t he might dye! 42 And he lett a lyon out of a bande, S_i_r Cawline ffor to teare; And he had noe wepon him vpon, Nor noe wepon did weare. 43 But hee tooke then his mantle of greene, Into the lyons mouth itt thrust; He held the lyon soe sore to the wall Till the lyons hart did burst.