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ANCIENT POEMS.

THE CHILD OF ELLE. n Nyonder hill a castle standes,

With walles and towers bedıght,
And yonder lives the Child of Elle,

A young and comely knighte:
The Child of Elle to his garden wente,

And stood at his garden pale,
Whan, lo! he beheld fair Emmelines page

Come trippinge downe the dale.

The Childe of Elle he hyed him thence, .

Y-wis he floode not ftille,
And soone he mette faire Emmeline's page

Come climbing up the hille,

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Nowe hye thee backe, thou little foot-page,

And greet thy ladye from mee,
And telle her that I her owne true love

Will dye, or sett her free.

Now hye thee backe, thou little foot-page,

And let thy fair ladye know This night will I bee at her bowre-windowe,

Beride me weale or woe.

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O ladye, Ive been with thy own true love,

And he greets thee well by mee; This night will he bee at thy bowre-windowe,

And dye or sette thee free.

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Awake, awake, my ladye deare,

Come, mount this faire palfraye: This ladder of ropes will lette thee downe, Ile carry thee hence awaye.

Nowe nay, nowe nay, thou gentle knight,

Now nay, this may not bee;
For aye should I tint my maiden fame,

If alone I should wend with thee,

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O ladye, wert thou in thy faddle fette,

And a little space him fro,
I would not care for thy cruel father,

Nor the worst that might befalle.

Faire Emmeline fighde, fair Emmeline wept,

And aye her heart was woe:
At length he seizde her lilly-white hand,

And downe the ladder hee drewe:

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