Then fayntinge in a deadlye swoune, And with a deep fette sighe, That burst her gentle heart in twayne, Fayre Christabelle did dye. * Fette, brought, drawn. NOTES ON SYR CAULINE. PART FIRST. She is a leeche fulle fine.-P. 113. v. 2. "As to what will be observed in this ballad, of the art of healing being practised by a young princess, it is no more than what is usual in all the old romances, and was conformable to real manners; it being a practice, adopted from the earliest times, among all the Gothic and Celtic nations, for women, even of the highest rank, to exercise the art of surgery. In the Northern Chronicles, we always find the young damsels staunching the wounds of their lovers, and the wives those of their husbands. See Northern Antiquities, Vol. I. p. 318, &c. And even so late as the time of Queen Elizabeth, it is mentioned among the accomplishments of the ladies of her court, that the "eldest of them are skilful in surgery."-See HARRISON'S Description of England prefired to HOLLINGSHED. PERCY. The metrical structure of this, and other stanzas in the ballad, has been remarked by Dr Percy. It is an approximation to a common measure of romances, and is, therefore, another proof of its general antiquity. Dr Percy has not marked his interpolations. Much of what follows has a striking resemblance to the commencement of the romance of Sir Eglamour of Artoys. PART SECOND. Page 125. v. 4. 5. The incident in these stanzas, is nearly the same as that on which the catastrophe of the romance of Roswall and Lillian turns. See Mr Ellis' very elegant prose abstract.-Early Romances, Vol. III. But every knichte of his round table. P. 127. v. 4. Dr Percy has remarked, that the "round table" was not peculiar to the reign of King Arthur. The Scottish ballad of Young Waters seems to point out the season for holding that festival: About Zule (Christmas) when the wind blew cule, And the round tables began. The ladye sighed a gentle sighe, "That this were my true knighte." P. 128. v. 5. This burst of feeling resembles one in Sir Tristrem: Ysonde seyd that tide, -"Allas, that thou ner knight!" |
