She curst the weaver, and the walker,1 That clothe that had wrought;

And bade a vengeance on his crowne, That hither hath itt brought.

When she had tane the mantle,
Of cloth that was made,

Shee had no more left on her,
But a tassell and a threed:

Then every knight in the king's court
Bade evill might shee speed.

Shee threw downe the mantle,
That bright was of blee;
And fast, with a redd rudd,
To her chamber can shee flee.

Craddocke called forth his ladye,
And bade her come in ;

Saith, Winne this mantle, ladye,
With a litle dinne.

Winne this mantle, ladye,
And it shal be thine,

If thou never did amisse
Since thou wast mine.

Forth came Craddocke's ladye

Shortlye and anon;

But boldlye to the mantle
Then is shee gone.

When she had tane the mantle,
And cast it her about,
Upp att her great toe

It began to crinkle and crowt:1
Shee said, bowe downe, mantle,
And shame me not for nought.

Once I did amisse,

I tell you certainlye,

When I kist Craddocke's mouth
Under a greene tree;

When I kist Craddocke's mouth

Before he marryed mee.

When shee had her shreeven,
And her sines shee had tolde;
The mantle stoode about her
Right as shee wold :

Crowt-pucker up.

Seemelye of coulour
Glittering like gold:

Then every knight in Artn's court
Did her behold.

Then spake dame Guénever
To Arthur our king;

She hath tane yonder mantle
Not with right, but with wronge.

See you not yonder woman,

That maketh herself soe' cleane ?'
I have seene tane out of her bedd
Of men fiveteene;1

Priests, clarkes, and wedded men
From her bedeene:2

Yett shee taketh the mantle,
And maketh her self cleane.

Then spake the litle boy,
That kept the mantle in hold;
Sayes, King, chasten thy wiffe,
Of her words shee is to bold:

Shee is a bitch and a witch,
And a whore bold:

King, in thine owne hall
Thou art a cuckold.

The litle boy stoode
Looking out a dore;

'And there as he was lookinge
'He was ware of a wyld bore.'

He was ware of a wyld bore,
Wold have werryed a man :
He pulld forth a wood kniffe,
Fast thither that he ran :
He brought in the bore's head,
And quitted him like a man.

He brought in the bore's head,

And was wonderous bold:

He said there was never a cuckold's kniffe

Carve itt that cold. 1

1 Fiveteen-fifteeno.

2 Bedcene--continuously.

Some rubbed their knives
Uppon a whetstone :

Some threw them under the table,
And said they had none.

King Arthur and the child
Stood looking upon them;
All their knives' edges
Turned backe againe.

Craddocke had a litle knive
Of iron and of steele;

He britled' the bore's head
Wonderous weele;

That every knight in the king's court
Had a morssell.

The litle boy had a horne,

Of red gold that ronge:

He said, there was noe cuckolde

Shall drinke of my horne ;

But he shold it sheede

Either behind or beforne.

Some shedd on their shoulder,
And some on their knee;

He that cold not hitt his mouthe,

Put it in his eye:

And he that was a cuckold

Every man might him see.

Craddocke wan the horne,
And the bore's head:
His ladie wan the mantle
Unto her meede.

Everye such a lovely ladye
God send her well to speede.

1 Britled-carved.

THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE

Is chiefly taken from the fragment of an old ballad in the folio MS., and is thought to have supplied Chaucer with his "Wife of Bath's Tale." Gower has a story upon the same subject; but, like Chaucer, he may have been acquainted with an earlier version in the "Gesta Romanorum." Scott was reminded of this Ballad by the copy of "King Henrie," which he printed in the " Minstrelsy," iii. 274.

PART THE FIRST.

KING Arthur lives in merry Carleile,
And seemely is to see;

And there with him queene Guenever,
That bride soe bright of blee.

And there with him queene Guenever,
That bride so bright in bowre:
And all his barons about him stoode,
That were both stiffe and stowre.

The king a royale Christmasse kept,
With mirth and princelye cheare;
To him repaired many a knighte,
That came both farre and neare.

And when they were to dinner sette,
And cups went freely round:
Before them came a faire damsèlle,
And knelt upon the ground.

A boone, a boone, O kinge Arthùre,
I beg a boone of thee;

Avenge me of a carlish knighte,

Who hath shent1 my love and mee.

At Tearne-Wadling2 his castle stands,
Near to that lake so fair,

And proudlye rise the battlements,
And streamers deck the air.

1 Shent-abused.

2 Tearne-Wadling is the name of a small lake near Hesketh, in Cumberland, on the road from Penrith to Carlisle. There is a tradition, that an old castle once stood ncs, the lake, the remains of which were not long since visible. Tearn, in the dialect of the country, signifies a small lake, and is still in use.