For in my mind, of all mankind
I love but you alone.'"
"It standeth so: a deed is do
Whereof much harm shall grow.
My destiny is for to die
A shameful death, I trow,
Or else to flee,--the one must be:
None other way I know,
But to withdraw as an outlaw,
And take me to my bow.
Wherefore, adieu, my own heart true,
None other red I can;
For I must to the green wood go,
Alone, a banished man."
"O Lord, what is this worldés bliss
That changeth as the moon!
My summer's day in lusty May
Is darked before the noon.
I hear you say Farewell: nay, nay,
We depart not so soon.
Why say ye so? Whither will ye go?
Alas, what have ye done?
(_red_, plan. _darked_, darkened.)
All my welfare to sorrow and care
Should change, if ye were gone:
For in my mind, of all mankind
I love but you alone."
"I can believe it shall you grieve,
And somewhat you distrain;
But afterward your painés hard,
Within a day or twain,
Shall soon aslake, and ye shall take
Comfort to you again.
Why should ye nought? for, to make thought
Your labour were in vain:
And thus I do, and pray you, too,
As heartily as I can:
For I must to the green wood go,
Alone, a banished man."
"Now sith that ye have shewed to me
The secret of your mind,
I shall be plain to you again,
Like as ye shall me find:
Sith it is so that ye will go,
I will not leave behind;
Shall never be said the Nutbrown Maid
Was to her love unkind.
Make you ready, for so am I,
Although it were anon;
For in my mind, of all mankind
I love but you alone."
"Yet I you rede to take good heed
What men will think and say -,
Of young and old it shall be told,
That ye be gone away
Your wanton will for to fulfil,
In green wood you to play;
And that ye might from your delight
No longer make delay.'
Rather than ye should thus for me
Be called an ill woman,
Yet would I to the green wood go
Alone, a banished man."
"Though it be sung of old and young
That I should be to blame,
Theirs be the charge that speak so large
In hurting of my name.
For I will prove that faithful love
It is devoid of shame,
In your distress and heaviness,
To part with you the same;
And sure all tho that do not so,
True lovers are they none;
But in my mind, of all mankind
I love but you alone."
"I counsel yow remember how
It is no maiden's law,
Nothing to doubt, but to renne out
To wood with an outlaw.
(_tho_, those. _renne_, run.)
For ye must there in your hand bear
A bow to bear and draw,
And as a thief thus must ye live,
Ever in dread and awe;
By which to yow great harm might grow;--
Yet had I liefer than
That I had to the greenwood go
Alone, a banished man."
"I think not nay; but, as ye say,
It is no maiden's lore;
But love may make me for your sake,
As ye have said before,
To come on foot, to hunt and shoot
To get us meat and store;
For so that I your company
May have, I ask no more;
From which to part, it maketh mine heart
As cold as any stone:
For in my mind, of all mankind
I love but you alone."
"For an outlaw this is the law,
That men him take and bind,
Without pity hanged to be,
And waver with the wind.
If I had need, as God forbid,
What rescue could ye find?
For sooth, I trow, you and your bow
Should draw for fear behind:
And no merveil; for little avail
Were in your counsel than;
Wherefore I to the wood will go
Alone, a banished man."
"Full well know ye that women be
Full feeble for to fight;
No womanhead is it indeed,
To be bold as a knight.
Yet in such fear if that ye were,
Among enemies day and night,
I would withstand, with bow in hand,
To grieve them as I might,
And you to save, as women have,
From death many one:
For in my mind, of all mankind
I love but you alone."
"Yet take good heed; for ever I dread
That ye could not sustain
The thorny ways, the deep vallies,
The snow, the frost, the rain,
The cold, the heat; for, dry or wet,
We must lodge on the plain;
And us above none other rove
But a brake bush or twain;
Which soon should grieve you, I believe,
And ye would gladly than
That I had to the greenwood go
Alone, a banished man."
(_than_, then. _rove_, roof.)
"Sith I have here been partinere
With you of joy and bliss,
I must also part of your woe
Endure, as reason is;
Yet am I sure of one pleasure,
And shortly, it is this;
That where ye be, meseemth, perde,
I could not fare amiss.
Without more speech, I you beseech
That we were soon agone;
For in My mind, of all mankind
I love but you alone."
"If ye go thither, ye must consider,
When ye have lust to dine,
There shall no meat be for to get,
Nor drink, beer, ale, ne wine;
Ne sheetés clean to lie between,
Made of thread and twine:
None other house but leaves and boughs
To cover your head and mine.
Lo, mine heart sweet, this ill diet
Should make you pale and wan:
Wherefore I to the wood will go
Alone, a banished man."
"Among the wild deer such an archer
As men say that ye be
Ne may not fail of good vitail,
Where is so great plenty;
(_partinere_, partner. _vitail_, victual)
And water clear of the river
Shall be full sweet to me,
With which in hele I shall right weel
Endure, as ye shall see:
And ere we go, a bed or two
I can provide anon;
For in my mind, of all mankind
I love but you alone."
"Lo, yet before, ye must do more,
If ye will go with me,
As cut your hair up by your ear,
Your kirtle by the knee;
With bow in hand, for to withstand
Your enemies, if need be;
And this same night, before daylight,
To woodward will I flee;
And [if] ye will all this fulfill,
Do it shortly as ye can:
Else will I to the greenwood go
Alone, a banished man."
"I shall as now do more for you
Than longeth to womanhood,
To short my hair, a bow to bear,
To shoot in time of need:
O my sweet mother, before all other,
For you have I most dread!
But now, adieu! I must ensue
Where fortune doth me lead.
(_hele_, health.)
All this make ye; now let us flee;
The day comes fast upon;
For in my mind, of all mankind
I love but you alone."
"Nay, nay, not so; ye shall not go;
And I shall tell you why;
Your appetite is to be light
Of love, I well espy:
For right as ye have said to me,
I n like wise, hardily,
Ye would answer, who so ever it were,
In way of company.
It is said of old, soon hot, soon cold,
And so is a woman;
Wherefore I to the wood will go
Alone, a banished man."
"If ye take heed, it is no need
Such words to say by me;
For oft ye prayed, and long assayed,
Or I you loved, perde.
And though that I of ancestry
A baron's daughter be,
Yet have you proved how I you loved,
A squire of low degree;
And ever shall, what so befall,
To die therefore anon;
For in my mind, of all mankind
I love but you alone."
"A baron's child to be beguiled,
It were a cursed deed!
To be fellow with an outlaw,
Almighty God forbid!
Yet better were the poor squire
Alone to forest yede,
Than ye shall say another day,
That by [my] wicked deed
Ye were betrayed; wherefore, good maid,
The best red that I can
Is that I to the green wood go
Alone, a banished man."
"Whatsoever befall, I never shall
Of this thing you upbraid;
But if ye go, and leave me so,
Then have ye me betrayed.
Remember you weel, how that ye deal,
For if ye, as ye said,
Be so unkind to leave behind
Your love, the Nutbrown Maid,
Trust me truly, that I shall die,
Soon after ye be gone;
For in my mind, of all mankind
I love but you alone."
"If that ye went, ye should repent,
For in the forest now
I have purveyed me of a maid
Whom I love more than you:
(_yede_, went. _red_, advice.)
Another fairer than ever ye were,
I dare it well avow;
And of you both each should be wroth
With other, as I trow.
It were mine ease to live in peace;
So will I, if I can;
Wherefore I to the wood will go
Alone, a banished man."
"Though in the wood I understood
Ye had a paramour,
All this may nought remove my thought,
But that I will be your;
And she shall find me soft and kind
And courteous every hour,
Glad to fulfill all that she will
Command me to my power;
For had ye, lope, an hundred moe
Yet would I be that one.
For in my mind, of all mankind
I love but you alone."
"Mine own dear love, I see the prove
That ye be kind and true;
Of maid and wife, in all my life,
The best that ever I knew.
Be merry and glad, be no more sad,
The case is changed new;
For it were ruth that for your truth
You should have cause to rue.
(_lo'e,_ love.)
Be not dismayed: whatsoever I said
To you when I began,
I will not to the green wood go;
I am no banished man."
"This tidings be more glad to me
Than to be made a queen,
If I were sure they should endure,
But it is often seen,
When men will break promise, they speak
The wordés on the spleen.
Ye shape some wile me to beguile,
And steal fro me, I ween;
Then were the case worse than it was,
And I more woe-begone;
For in my mind, of all mankind
I love but you alone."
"Ye shall not need further to dread:
I will not disparage
You, God defend! sith you descend
Of so great a lineage.
Now understand, to Westmoreland,
Which is my heritage,
I will you bring, and with a ring,
By way of marriage,
I will you take, and lady make,
As shortly as I can:
Thus have ye won an earlés son,
And not a banished man."
Here may ye see that women be
In love meek, kind, and stable:
Let never man reprove them than,
Or call them variable;
But rather pray God, that we may
To them be comfortable,
Which sometime proveth such as loveth,
If they be charitable;
For sith men would that women should
Be meek to them each one,
Much more ought they to God obey,
And serve but Him alone.
[Illustration: 0207]
[Illustration: 0208]
ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE
|When shaws been sheen, and shrads full fair,
And leaves both large and long,
It is merry walking in the fair forrèst,
To hear the small bird's song.
The woodweel sang, and would not cease,
Among the leaves o' line;
And it is by two wight yeomen,
By dear God, that I mean. *
(_shaws_ wood. _sheen,_ bright.
_shrad,_ an opening in a wood. _line,_ tree.)
* The lost stanza probably states that Robin Hood is having a dream.
"Methought they did me beat and bind,
And took my bow me fro;
If I be Robin alive in this land,
I'll be wroken on them two."
"Swevens are swift, master," quoth John,
"As the wind that blows o'er a hill;
For if it be never so loud this night,
To-morrow it may be still."
"Busk ye, boun ye, my merry men all,
For John shall go with me,
For I'll go seek yond wight yeomen,
In greenwood where they be."
They cast on their gowns of green,
A shooting gone are they;
Until they came to the merry greenwood,
Where they had gladdest be;
There were they ware of [a] wight yeoman,
His body leaned to a tree.
A sword and a dagger he wore by his side,
Had been many a mans bane;
And he was clad in his capull hide,
Top and tail and mane.
(_wroken_, revenged. _swevens_, dreams.
_boun_, make ready. _capull_, horse.)
"Stand you still, master," quoth Little John,
"Under this trusty tree,
And I will go to yond wight yeoman,
To know his meaning truly."
"Ah! John, by me thou sets no store,
And that's a farley thing:
'How oft send I my men before,
And tarry myself behind?
"It is no cunning a knave to ken,
And a man but hear him speak;
And it were not for bursting of my bow,
John, I would thy head break."
But often words they breeden bale,
That parted Robin and John;
John is gone to Barnesdale;
The gates he knows each one.
And when he came to Barnesdale,
Great heaviness there he had,
He found two of his own fellows,
Were slain both in a slade.
And Scarlet a-foot flying was
Over stocks and stone,
For the sheriff with seven score men
Fast after him is gone.
(_farley_, strange. _bale_, mischief or sorrow. _slade_, valley.)
"Yet one shot I'll shoot," says Little John,
"With Christ his might and main;
I'll make yond fellow that flies so fast,
To be both glad and fain."
John bent up a good yew bow,
And fettled him to shoot:
The bow was made of a tender bough,
And fell down to his foot.
"Woe worth thee, wicked wood," said Little John,
"That ere thou grew on a tree!
For this day thou art my bale,
My boot when thou should be."
This shot it was but loosely shot,
The arrow flew in vain,
And it met one of the sheriffs men,
Good William a Trent was slain.
It had been better for William a Trent
To have been upon a gallow,
Than for to lie in the greenwood
There slain with an arrow.
And it is said, when men be met
Six can do more than three,
And they have taen Little John,
And bound him fast to a tree.
(_fettled_, made ready.)
"Thou shalt be drawn by dale and down," quoth the sheriff,
"And hanged high on a hill;"
"But thou may fail," quoth John,
"If it be Christs own will."
Let us leave talking of Little John,
For he is bound fast to a tree,
And talk of Guy and Robin Hood,
In the green wood where they be.
How these two yeomen together they met,
Under the leaves of line,
To see what merchandise they made,
Even at that same time.
"Good morrow, good fellow," quoth Sir Guy,
"Good morrow, good fellow," quoth he:
"Methinks by this bow thou bears in thy hand,
A good archer thou seems to be.
"I am wilful of my way," quoth Sir Guy,
"And of my morning tide:"
"I'll lead thee through the wood,"quoth Robin,
"Good fellow, I'll be thy guide."
"I seek an outlaw," quoth Sir Guy,
"Men call him Robin Hood:
I'd rather meet with him upon a day,
Than forty pound of gold."
(_line_, tree.)
"If you two met, it would be seen whether were better,
Afore ye did part away;
Let us some other pastime find,
Good fellow, I thee pray.
"Let us some masteries make,
And we will walk in the woods even;
We may chance meet with Robin Hood
Here at some unset steven."
They cut them down two summer shrogs,
Which grew both under a briar,
And set them threescore rood in twin,
To shoot the pricks full near.
"Lead on, good fellow," said Sir Guy,
"Lead on, I do bid thee;"
"Nay, by my faith," quoth Robin Hood,
"The leader thou shalt be."
The first good shot that Robin led
Did not shoot an inch the prick fro';
Guy was an archer good enough,
But he could ne er shoot so.
(_unset steven_, unappointed time.
_shrogs_, shrubs.
_in twin_, apart.)
The second shot Sir Guy shot,
He shot within the garland;
But Robin Hood shot it better than he,
For he clove the good prick-wand.
"God's blessing on thy heart," says Guy,
"Good fellow, thy shooting is good;
For an thy heart be as good as thy hand
Thou were better then Robin Hood.
"Tell me thy name, good fellow," quoth Guy,
"Under the leaves of line;"
"Nay, by my faith," quoth good Robin,
"Till thou have told me thine."
"I dwell by dale and down," quoth Guy,
"And I have done many a cursed turn;
And he that calls me by my right name,
Calls me Guy of good Gisborne."
"My dwelling is in the wood," says Robin,
"By thee I set right nought:
I am Robin Hood of Barnésdale,
A fellow thou has long sought."
He that had neither been a kith nor kin
Might have seen a full fair fight,
To see how together these yeomen went
With blades both brown and bright:
To have seen how these yeomen together fought
Two hours of a summers day,
It was neither Guy nor Robin Hood
That fettled them to fly away.
Robin was reachless on a root,
And stumbled at that tide;
And Guy was quick and nimble withal,
And hit him o'er the left side.
"Ah, dear Lady," said Robin Hood,
"Thou art both mother and may;
I think it was never man's destiny
To die before his day."
Robin thought on our lady dear,
And soon leapt up again,
And thus he came with an awkward stroke,
Good Sir Guy he hath slain.
He took Sir Guy's head by the hair,
And sticked it on his bow's end:
"Thou hast been traitor all thy life,
Which thing must have an end."
Robin pulled forth an Irish knife,
And nicked Sir Guy in the face,
That he was never on woman born
Could tell who Sir Guy was.
(_reachless_, reckless.)
Says, "Lie there, lie there, good Sir Guy,
And with me be not wroth;
If thou have had the worse strokes at my hand,
Thou shalt have the better cloth."
Robin did off his gown of green,
[On] Sir Guy he did it throw,
And he put on that capull hide,
That clad him top to toe.
"The bow, the arrows, and little horn,
And with me now I'll bear;
For I will go to Barnesdale,
To see how my men do fare."
Robin Hood set Guy's horn to his mouth,
And a loud blast in it he did blow:
That beheard the sheriff of Nottingham,
As he leaned under a lowe.
"Hearken, hearken," said the sheriff,
"I heard no tidings but good,
For yonder I hear Sir Guy's horn blow,
For he hath slain Robin Hood.
"For yonder I hear Sir Guys horn blow,
It blows so well in tide,
For yonder comes that wight yeoman,
Clad in his capull hide.
(_lowef_, small hill.)
"Come hither, thou good Sir Guy,
Ask of me what thou wilt:"
"I'll have none of thy gold," says Robin Hood,
"Nor I'll none of it have.
"But now I have slain the master," he said,
"Let me go strike the knave;
This is all the reward I ask,
Nor no other will I have."
"Thou art a madman," said the sheriff,
"Thou shouldest have had a knight's fee;
Seeing thy asking hath been so bad,
Well granted it shall be."
But Little John heard his master speak,
Well he knew that was his steven;
"Now shall I be loosed," quoth Little John,
"With Christ's might in heaven."
But Robin he hied him towards Little John,
He thought he would loose him belive:
The sheriff and all his company
Fast after him did drive.
"Stand aback, stand aback," said Robin,
"Why draw you me so near?
It was never the use in our country,
Ones shrift another should hear."
(_steven_, voice. _belive_, quickly.)
But Robin pulled forth an Irish knife,
And loosed John hand and foot,
And gave him Sir Guy's bow in his hand,
And bade it be his boot.
But John took Guy's bow in his hand,
His arrows were rusty by the root:
The sheriff saw Little John draw a bow,
And fettle him to shoot.
Towards his house in Nottingham
He fled full fast away,
And so did all his company,
Not one behind did stay.
But he could neither so fast go,
Nor away so fast run,
But Little John with an arrow broad
Did cleave his heart in twin.
OLD ROBIN OF PORTINGALE
|God let never so old a man
Marry so young a wife,
As did old Robin of Portingale;
He may rue all the days of his life.
(_fettle_, make ready.)
For the mayor's daughter of Lynn, God wot,
He chose her to his wife,
And thought to have lived in quietness,
With her all the days of his life.
They had not in their wed-bed laid,
Scarcely were both on sleep,
But up she rose, and forth she goes,
To Sir Gyles, and fast can weep.
Says, "Sleep you, wake you, fair Sir Gyles?
Or be you not within?
[Sleep you, wake you, fair Sir Gyles,
Arise and let me in."]
"But I am waking, sweet," he said,
"Lady, what is your will?"
"I have unbethought me of a wile
How my wed lord we shall spill.
"Four and twenty knights," she says,
"That dwells about this town,
E en four and twenty of my next cousins
Will help to ding him down."
With that beheard his little footpage,
As he was watering his master's steed;
[And for his master's sad peril]
His very heart did bleed.
(_ding_, knock.)
He mourned, sighed, and wept full sore;
I swear by the holy rood,
The tears he for his master wept
Were blend water and blood.
With that beheard his dear master
As [he] in his garden sat:
Says, "Ever alack, my little page,
What causes thee to weep?
"Hath any one done to thee wrong,
Any of thy fellows here?
Or is any of thy good friends dead,
Which makes thee shed such tears?
"Or, if it be my head cook's-man,
Grieved again he shall be:
Nor no man within my house
Shall do wrong unto thee."
"But it is not your head cook's-man,
Nor none of his degree:
But, for to-morrow ere it be noon
You are deemed to die:
"And of that thank your head steward,
And after, your gay lady."
"If it be true, my little foot-page,
I'll make thee heir of all my land."
(_deemed_, doomed.)
"If it be not true, my dear master,
God let me never the:"
"If it be not true, thou little foot-page,
A dead corse shalt thou be."
He called down his head cooks-man,
Cook in kitchen supper to dress:
"All and anon, my dear master,
Anon at your request."
"And call you down my fair lady
This night to sup with me."
And down then came that fair lady,
Was clad all in purple and pall:
The rings that were upon her fingers,
Cast light thorow the hall.
"What is your will, my own wed lord?
What is your will with me?"
"I am sick, fair lady,
Sore sick and like to die."
"But and you be sick, my own wed lord,
So sore it grieveth me:
But my five maidens and myself
Will go and make your bed.
"And at the wakening of your first sleep,
You shall have a hot drink made;
And at the wakening of your next sleep
Your sorrows will have a slake."
(_the_, prosper.)
He put a silk coat on his back,
Was thirteen inches fold;
And put a steel cap upon his head,
Was gilded with good red gold.
And he laid a bright brown sword by his side,
And another at his feet:
And full well knew old Robin then
Whether he should wake or sleep.
And about the middle time of the night,
Came twenty-four good knights;
Sir Gyles he was the foremost man,
So well he knew that gin.
Old Robin with a bright brown sword,
Sir Gyles' head he did win;
So did he all those twenty-four
Never a one went quick out [agen].
None but one little foot-page,
Crept forth at a window of stone;
And he had two arms when he came in,
And [when he went out he had none].
Up then came that lady gay,
With torches burning bright;
She thought to have brought Sir Gyles a drink,
But she found her own wed knight.
(_gin_, trick.)
And the first thing that this lady stumbled upon
Was of Sir Gyles his foot'
Says, "Ever alack, and woe is me!
Here lies my sweet heart-root."
And the second thing that this lady stumbled on
Was of Sir Gyles his head;
Says, "Ever alack, and woe is me!
Here lies my true love dead."
He cut the paps beside her breast,
And bade her wish her will;
And he cut the ears beside her head
And bade her wish on still.
Mickle is the man's blood I have spent,
To do thee and me some good;
Says, "Ever alack, my fair lady,
I think that I was wood!"
He called then up his little foot-page,
And made him heir of all his land;
And he shope the cross on his right shoulder,
Of the white flesh and the red,
And he went him into the holy land,
Whereas Christ was quick and dead.
(_shope_, shaped, cut. _wood_, mad.)
[Illustration: 08224]
CAPTAIN CAR, OR EDOM O' GORDON.
|It befell at Martinmas
When weather waxed cold,
Captain Car said to his men,
"We must go take a hold."
Sick, sick, and too-too sick,
And sick and like to die;
The sickest night that ever I abode,
God Lord have mercy on me.
"Hail, master, and whither you will,
And whither ye like it best."
"To the castle of Craickernbrough;
And there we will take our rest.
"I know where is a gay castle,
Is builded of lime and stone,
Within there is a gay lady,
Her lord is ridden and gone."
The lady she leaned on her castle-wall,
She looked up and down;
There was she ware of an host of men,
Come riding to the town.
"See now, my merry men all,
And see you what I see;
Yonder I see an host of men,
I muse who they be."
She thought he had been her wed lord,
As he comed riding home;
Then was it traitor Captain Car,
The lord of Ester-town.
They were no sooner at supper set,
Then after said the grace,
Or Captain Car and all his men
Were light about the place.
"Give over this house, thou lady gay,
And I will make thee a band;
To-night thou shall lie within my arms,
To-morrow thou shall heir my land."
Then bespake the eldest son,
That was both white and red,
"O mother dear, give over your house,
Or else we shall be dead."
"I will not give over my house," she saith,
"Not for fear of my life;
It shall be talked throughout the land,
The slaughter of a wife.
"Fetch me my pestilet,
And charge me my gun,
That I may shoot at yonder bloody butcher,
The lord of Ester-town."
Stiffly upon her wall she stood,
And let the pellets flee,
But then she missed the bloody butcher,
And she slew other three.
"[I will] not give over my house," she saith,
"Neither for lord nor loon,
Nor yet for traitor Captain Car,
The lord of Ester-town.
(_band_, bond. _pestilet_, pistols.)
"I desire of Captain Car,
And all his bloody band,
That he would save my eldest son,
The heir of all my land."
"Lap him in a sheet," he saith,
"And let him down to me,
And I shall take him in my arms,
His warrant shall I be."
The captain said unto himself,
With speed before the rest;
He cut his tongue out of his head,
His heart out of his brest.
He lapt them in a handerchief,
And knit it of knots three,
And cast them over the castle-wall
At that gay lady.
"Fie upon thee, Captain Car,
And all thy bloody band,
For thou hast slain my eldest son,
The heir of all my land."
Then bespake the youngest son,
That sat on the nurses knee,
Saith, "Mother gay, give over your house,
It smouldereth me."
"I would give my gold," she saith,
"And so I would my fee,
For a blast of the western wind
To drive the smoke from thee.
"Fie upon thee, John Hamilton,
That ever I paid thee hire,
For thou hast broken my castle-wall,
And kindled in the fire."
The lady gat to her close parlor,
The fire fell about her head;
She took up her children three,
Saith, "Babes, we are all dead."
Then bespake the high steward,
That is of high degree;
Saith, "Lady gay, you are enclosed,
Whether ye fight or flee."