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And thrice he claspde her to his breite,
And kist her tenderlie:
Awake, awake, thou baron bolde !
Awake, my noble dame! Your daughter is fledde with the Child of Elle,
To doe the deede of shame,
The baron he woke, the baron he rose,
And callde his merrye men all: " And come thou forth, Sir John the knighte,
Thy ladye is carried to thrall.”
Fair Emmeline scant had ridden a mile,
A mile forth of the towne,
• Nowe hold thy hand, thou bold baron,
I pray thee, hold thy hand,
Faft knit in true loves band,
Thy daughter I have dearly lovde
Full long and many a day, But with such love as holy kirke
Hath freelye fayd wee may.
My mother she was an erles daughter,
A noble knyght my fire ---
Here take her, child of Elle, he fayd,
And gave her lillye hand,
And with her half my land:
Thy father once mine honour wrongde
In days of youthful pride; Do thou the injurye repayre
In fondnesle for thy bride.
A S it fell out on a highe holye daye, t. As many bee in the yeare, When young men and maides together do goc
Their masses and mattins to heare.