Kyng Estmere threwe the harpe asyde, And swith he drew his brand; 270 And Estmere he, and Adler yonge, Right stiffe in stour can stand.
And aye their swordes soe sore can byte, Through helpe of gramarye, That soone they have slayne the kempery men, 275 Or forst them forth to flee.
Kyng Estmere tooke that fayre ladye, And marryed her to his wiffe, And brought her home to merrye England, With her to leade his life. 280
Then they pulled out a ryng of gold, Layd itt on the porters arme.
The rings so often used in ballads to conciliate the porter would seem to be not personal ornaments, but coins. For an account of Ring Money, see the paper of Sir William Betham, in the seventeenth volume of the _Transactions of the Royal Irish Academy_.
From _Reliques of English Poetry_, i. 44.
"This old romantic tale," says Percy, "was preserved in the Editor's folio MS., but in so very defective and mutilated a condition, (not from any chasm in the MS., but from great omission in the transcript, probably copied from the faulty recitation of some illiterate minstrel,) that it was necessary to supply several stanzas in the first part, and still more in the second, to connect and complete the story."
Many of the interpolations acknowledged in such general terms might with some confidence be pointed out. Among them are certainly most, if not all, of the last twelve stanzas of the Second Part, which include the catastrophe to the story. It is difficult to believe that this charming romance had so tragic and so sentimental a conclusion.
The first part of this ballad is preserved in Scotland, under the title of _King Malcolm and Sir Colvin_, and is printed in our Appendix from Buchan's collection. In this, Sir Colvin weds the princess after his victory over the Elrick knight.
In Ireland, ferr over the sea, There dwelleth a bonnye kinge; And with him a yong and comlye knighte, Men call him Syr Cauline.
The kinge had a ladye to his daughter, 5 In fashyon she hath no peere; And princely wightes that ladye wooed To be theyr wedded feere.
Syr Cauline loveth her best of all, But nothing durst he saye, 10 Ne descreeve his counsayl to no man, But deerlye he lovde this may.
Till on a daye it so beffell Great dill to him was dight; The maydens love removde his mynd, 15 To care-bed went the knighte.
