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THE BOOK
OF
BRAVE OLD BALLADS.
Illustrated with Sixteen Coloured Engravings,
FROM DRAWINGS BY JOHN GILBERT.
"_I never heard the old song of Percie and Douglas, that I found not
my heart moved more than with a trumpet._"--SIR PHILIP SIDNEY.
LONDON: WARD, LOCK, AND TYLER, WARWICK HOUSE, PATERNOSTER ROW.
LONDON: PRINTED BY J. OGDEN AND CO., 172, ST. JOHN STREET, E.C.
[Illustration: THE FROLICSOME DUKE, OR THE TINKER'S GOOD FORTUNE.]
CONTENTS.
PAGE
ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE 1
THE CHILDE OF ELLE 17
ADAM BELL, CLYM OF THE CLOUGH, AND WILLIAM OF CLOUDESLY--
Part the First 30
Part the Second 43
Part the Third 55
SIR LANCELOT DU LAKE 74
THE FROLICKSOME DUKE; OR, THE TINKER'S GOOD FORTUNE 82
THE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY CHASE 89
KING EDWARD IV. AND THE TANNER OF TAMWORTH 106
THE HEIR OF LINNE--
Part the First 118
Part the Second 124
SIR ANDREW BARTON--
Part the First 133
Part the Second 142
BRAVE LORD WILLOUGHBEY 155
KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY 162
ROBIN HOOD AND THE CURTAL FRIAR 170
ROBIN HOOD AND ALLEN-A-DALE 181
VALENTINE AND URSINE--
Part the First 188
Part the Second 198
THE KING AND THE MILLER OF MANSFIELD--
Part the First 214
Part the Second 222
ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
1. SIR GUY OF GISBORNE.
_He took Sir Guy's head by the hair,
And stuck it upon his bow's end_ 11
2. THE CHILDE OF ELLE.
_Pardon, my lord and father dear,
This fair young knight and me_ 28
3. ADAM BELL, CLYM OF THE CLOUGH, &C.
_Cloudesly bent a right good bow,
That was of a trusty tree_ 36
4. _They kneeled down without hindrance,
And each held up his hand_ 60
5. SIR LANCELOT DU LAKE.
_She brought him to a river side
And also to a tree_ 76
6. THE FROLICKSOME DUKE. (_Frontispiece._)
_Now he lay something late, in his rich bed of state,
Till at last knights and squires, they on him did wait_ 84
7. CHEVY CHASE.
_Then leaving life, Earl Percy took
The dead man by the hand_ 99
8. KING EDWARD AND THE TANNER.
_The tanner he pull'd, the tanner he sweat,
And held by the pummel fast_ 114
9. THE HEIR OF LINNE.
_And he pull'd forth three bags of gold,
And laid them down upon the board_ 130
10. SIR ANDREW BARTON.
_They boarded then his noble ship,
They boarded it with might and main_ 150
11. THE BRAVE LORD WILLOUGHBEY.
_They kneeled on the ground,
And praised God devoutly_ 157
12. THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY.
_Then home rode the abbot of comfort so cold,
And he met his shepherd a going to fold_ 165
13. ROBIN HOOD AND THE CURTAL FRIAR.
_The friar took Robin Hood on his back,
Deep water he did bestride_ 174
14. THE MARRIAGE OF ALLEN-A-DALE.
_He ask'd them seven times in the church,
Lest three times should not be enough_ 187
15. VALENTINE AND URSINE.
_And kneeling down upon his knee,
Presents him to the king_ 197
16. THE MILLER OF MANSFIELD.
_Well, quo' the miller's wife, young man, ye're
welcome here;
And, though I say it, well lodged shall be_ 218
THE BOY'S BOOK OF BALLADS.
ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE.
When shaws[1] be sheen,[2] and swards full fair,
And leaves both large and long,
It is merry walking in the fair forest
To hear the small birds' song.
The woodweel[3] sang, and would not cease,
Sitting upon the spray,
So loud, he wakened Robin Hood,
In the greenwood where he lay.
Now by my faith, said jolly Robin,
A sweaven[4] I had this night;
I dreamt me of two wight[5] yeomen
That fast with me can fight.
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[6] on them two.
Sweavens 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, bowne[7] ye, my merry men all,
And John shall go with me,
For I'll go seek yon wight yeomen,
In the greenwood where they be.
Then they cast on their gowns of green,
And took their bows each one,
And they away to the green forest,
A shooting forth are gone;
Until they came to the merry greenwood,
Where they had gladdest be,
There were they aware of a wight yeoman,
His body leaned to a tree.
A sword and a dagger he wore by his side,
Of many a man the bane;
And he was clad in his capull[8] hide
Top and tail and mane.
Stand you still, master, quoth Little John,
Under this tree so green,
And I will go to yon wight yeoman
To know what he doth mean.
Ah! John, by me thou settest no store,
And that I fairly find;
How oft send I my men before,
And tarry myself behind?
It is no cunning a knave to ken,
An[9] a man but hear him speak;
An it were not for bursting of my bow,
John, I thy head would break.
As often words they breeden bale,[10]
So they parted, Robin and John;
And John is gone to Barnesdale:
The gates[11] he knoweth each one.
But when he came to Barnesdale,
Great heaviness there he had,
For he found two of his own fellows
Were slain both in a glade.
And Scarlett he was flying a-foot
Fast over stock and stone,
For the proud sheriff with seven score men
Fast after him is gone.
One shot now I will shoot, quoth John,
(With Christe his might and main;)
I'll make yon fellow that flies so fast,
To stop he shall be fain.
Then John bent up his long bende-bow,
And fettled[12] him to shoot:
The bow was made of tender bough,
And fell down to his foot.
Woe worth, woe worth thee, wicked wood,
That ere thou grew on a tree;
For now this day thou art my bale,
My boote[13] when thou shouldst be.
His shoot it was but loosely shot,
Yet flew not the arrow in vain,
For it met one of the sheriff's men,--
Good William-a-Trent was slain.
It had been better for William-a-Trent
To have been a-bed with sorrow,
Than to be that day in the greenwood glade
To meet with Little John's arrow.
But as it is said, when men be met,
Five can do more than three,
The sheriff hath taken Little John,
And bound him fast to a tree.
Thou shalt be drawn by dale and down,
And hang'd high on a hill.
But thou mayst fail of thy purpose, quoth John,
If it be Christe his will.
Let us leave talking of Little John,
And think of Robin Hood,
How he is gone to the wight yeoman,
Where under the leaves he stood.
Good morrow, good fellow, said Robin so fair,
Good morrow, good fellow, quoth he:
Methinks by this bow thou bear'st in thy hand,
A good archer thou shouldst be.
I am wilful[14] of my way, quo' the yeoman,
And of my morning tide.
I'll lead thee through the wood, said Robin;
Good fellow, I'll be thy guide.
I seek an outlaw, the stranger said,
Men call him Robin Hood;
Rather I'd meet with that proud outlaw
Than forty pounds so good.
Now come with me, thou wighty yeoman,
And Robin thou soon shalt see:
But first let us some pastime find
Under the greenwood tree.
First let us some mastery make
Among the woods so even,
We may chance to meet with Robin Hood
Here at some unset[15] steven.
They cut them down two summer shoggs,[16]
That grew both under a briar,
And set them threescore rod, in twain,
To shoot the pricks[17] y-fere.[18]
Lead on, good fellow, quoth Robin Hood,
Lead on, I do bid thee.
Nay by my faith, good fellow, he said,
My leader thou shalt be.
The first time Robin shot at the prick,
He miss'd but an inch it fro';
The yeoman he was an archer good,
But he could never shoot so.
The second shoot had the wighty yeoman,
He shot within the garland;[19]
But Robin he shot far better than he,
For he clave the good prick-wand.
A blessing upon thy heart, he said;
Good fellow, thy shooting is good;
For an thy heart be as good as thy hand,
Thou wert better than Robin Hood.
Now tell me thy name, good fellow, said he,
Under the leaves of lyne.[20]
Nay, by my faith, quoth bold Robin,
Till thou have told me thine.
I dwell by dale and down, quoth he,
And Robin to take I'm sworn;
And when I am called by my right name,
I am Guy of good Gisborne.
My dwelling is in this wood, says Robin,
By thee I set right nought:
I am Robin Hood of Barnesdale,
Whom thou so long hast sought.
He that had neither been kith nor kin,
Might have seen a full fair sight,
To see how together these yeomen went
With blades both brown and bright.
To see how these yeomen together they fought
Two hours of a summer's day:
Yet neither Robin Hood nor sir Guy
Them fettled to fly away.
[Illustration: ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE.]
Robin was reachles[21] of 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,
Thou art both mother and may',[22]
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 straight he came with a backward stroke,
And he sir Guy hath slain.
He took sir Guy's head by the hair,
And stuck it upon his bow's-end:
Thou hast been a traitor all thy life,
Which thing must have an end.
Robin pull'd forth an Irish knife,
And nick'd sir Guy in the face,
That he was never o' woman born,
Could tell whose head it was.
Says, Lie there, lie there now, sir Guy,
And with me be not wroth;
If thou have had the worst strokes at my hand,
Thou shalt have the better cloth.
Robin did off his gown of green,
And on sir Guy did throw,
And he put on that capull hide,
That clad him top to toe.
The bow, the arrows, and little horn,
Now with me I will bear;
For I will away to Barnesdale,
To see how my men do fare.
Robin Hood set Guy's horn to his mouth,
And a loud blast in it did blow,
That beheard the sheriff of Nottingham,
As he leaned under a lowe.[23]
Hearken, hearken, said the sheriff,
I hear now tidings good,
For yonder I hear sir Guy's horn blow,
And he hath slain Robin Hood.
Yonder I hear sir Guy's horn blow,
It blows so well in tide,
And yonder comes that wighty yeoman,
Clad in his capull hide.
Come hither, come hither, thou good sir Guy,
Ask what thou wilt of me.
O I will none of thy gold, said Robin,
Nor I will none of thy fee.
But now I have slain the master, he says,
Let me go strike the knave;
For this is all the reward I ask;
Nor no other will I have.
Thou art a madman, said the sheriff,
Thou shouldst have had a knight's fee:
But seeing thy asking hath been so bad,
Well granted it shall be.
When Little John heard his master speak,
Well knew he it was his steven:[24]
Now shall I be loosed, quoth Little John,
With Christe his might in heaven.
Fast Robin he hied him to Little John,
He thought to loose him belive;[25]
The sheriff and all his company
Fast after him did drive.
Stand back, stand back, said Robin;
Why draw you me so near?
It was never the use in our country,
One's shrift another should hear.
But Robin pull'd forth an Irish knife,
And loosed John hand and foot,
And gave him sir Guy's bow into his hand,
And bade it be his boote.
Then John he took Guy's bow in his hand,
His bolts and arrows each one:
When the sheriff saw Little John bend his bow,
He fettled him to be gone.
Towards his house in Nottingham town,
He fled full fast away;
And so did all the company:
Not one behind would stay.
But he could neither run so fast,
Nor away so fast could ride,
But Little John with an arrow so broad,
He shot him into the back-side.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Woods.
[2] Shining.
[3] A kind of thrush.
[4] Dream.
[5] Strong.
[6] Revenged.
[7] Make ready.
[8] Horse-hide.
[9] If.
[10] Mischief.
[11] Ways.
[12] Made ready.
[13] Help.
[14] Missing.
[15] Unexpectedly.
[16] Twigs.
[17] Marks.
[18] Together.
[19] A ring round the prick.
[20] Lime.
[21] Careless.
[22] Maid.
[23] Little hill.
[24] Voice.
[25] Immediately.
THE CHILDE[26] OF ELLE.
On yonder hill a castle stands,
With walls and towers bedight,[27]
And yonder lives the Childe of Elle,
A young and comely knight.
The Childe of Elle to his garden went,
And stood at his garden-pale,
When, lo! he beheld fair Emmeline's page
Come tripping down the dale.
The Childe of Elle he hied him thence,
I wist he stood not still,
And soon he met fair Emmeline's page
Come climbing up the hill.
Now Christe thee save, thou little foot-page,
Now Christe thee save and see!
Oh tell me how does thy lady gay,
And what may thy tidings be?
My lady she is all woe-begone,
And the tears they fall from her eyne;[28]
And aye she laments the deadly feud
Between her house and thine.
And here she sends thee a silken scarf
Bedewed with many a tear,
And bids thee sometimes think on her,
Who loved thee so dear.
And here she sends thee a ring of gold,
The last boon thou may'st have,
And bids thee wear it for her sake,
When she is laid in grave.
For, ah! her gentle heart is broke,
And in grave soon must she be,
For her father hath chose her a new love,
And forbid her to think of thee.
Her father hath brought her a carlish[29] knight,
Sir John of the north countrey,
And within three days she must him wed,
Or he vows he will her slay.
Now hie thee back, thou little foot-page,
And greet thy lady from me,
And tell her that I, her own true love,
Will die, or set her free.
Now hie thee back, thou little foot-page,
And let thy fair lady know,
This night will I be at her bower-window,
Betide me weal or woe.
The boy he tripped, the boy he ran,
He neither stint[30] nor stay'd
Until he came to fair Emmeline's bower,
When, kneeling down, he said,
O lady, I've been with thine own true love,
And he greets thee well by me;
This night will he be at thy bower-window,
And die or set thee free.
Now day was gone, and night was come,
And all were fast asleep,
All save the lady Emmeline,
Who sate in her bower to weep:
And soon she heard her true love's voice
Low whispering at the wall;
Awake, awake, my dear lady,
'Tis I, thy true love, call.
Awake, awake, my lady dear,
Come, mount this fair palfrey:
This ladder of ropes will let thee down,
I'll carry thee hence away.
Now nay, now nay, thou gentle knight,
Now nay, this may not be;
For aye should I tint[31] my maiden fame,
If alone I should wend[32] with thee.
O lady, thou with a knight so true
May'st safely wend alone;
To my lady mother I will thee bring,
Where marriage shall make us one.
My father he is a baron bold,
Of lineage proud and high;
And what would he say if his daughter
Away with a knight should fly?
Ah! well I wot, he never would rest,
Nor his meat should do him no good,
Till he had slain thee, Childe of Elle,
And seen thy dear heart's blood.
O lady, wert thou in thy saddle set,
And a little space him fro',
I would not care for thy cruel father,
Nor the worst that he could do.
O lady, wert thou in thy saddle set,
And once without this wall,
I would not care for thy cruel father,
Nor the worst that might befall.
Fair Emmeline sighed, fair Emmeline wept,
And aye her heart was woe:
At length he seized her lily-white hand,
And down the ladder he drew:
And thrice he clasped her to his breast,
And kissed her tenderly:
The tears that fell from her fair eyes,
Ran like the fountain free.
He mounted himself on his steed so tall,
And her on a fair palfrey,
And slung his bugle about his neck,
And roundly they rode away.
All this beheard her own damsel,
In her bed wherein she lay;
Quoth she, My lord shall know of this,
So I shall have gold and fee.
Awake, awake, thou baron bold!
Awake, my noble dame!
Your daughter is fled with the Childe of Elle,
To do the deed of shame.
The baron he woke, the baron he rose,
And called his merry men all:
And come thou forth, Sir John the knight,
Thy lady is carried to thrall.
Fair Emmeline scarce had ridden a mile,
A mile forth of the town,
When she was aware of her father's men
Come galloping over the down:
And foremost came the carlish knight,
Sir John of the north countrey:
Now stop, now stop, thou false traitor,
Nor carry that lady away.
For she is come of high lineage,
And was of a lady born,
And ill it beseems thee, a false churl's son,
To carry her hence to scorn.
Now loud thou liest, Sir John the knight,
Now thou dost lie of me;
A knight me got, and a lady me bore,
So never did none by thee.
But light now down, my lady fair,
Light down, and hold my steed,
While I and this discourteous knight
Do try this arduous deed.
But light now down, my dear lady,
Light down, and hold my horse;
While I and this discourteous knight
Do try our valour's force.
Fair Emmeline sighed, fair Emmeline
And aye her heart was woe,
While 'twixt her love and the carlish knight
Past many a baleful blow.
The Childe of Elle he fought so well,
As his weapon he waved amain,
That soon he had slain the carlish knight,
And laid him upon the plain.
And now the baron and all his men
Full fast approached nigh:
Ah! what may lady Emmeline do!
'Twere now no boote[33] to fly.
Her lover he put his horn to his mouth,
And blew both loud and shrill,
And soon he saw his own merry men
Come riding over the hill.
Now hold thy hand, thou bold baron,
I pray thee, hold thy hand,
Nor ruthless rend two gentle hearts,
Fast knit in true love's band.
Thy daughter I have dearly loved
Full long and many a day;
But with such love as holy kirk
Hath freely said we may.
O give consent she may be mine,
And bless a faithful pair:
My lands and livings are not small,
My house and lineage fair:
My mother she was an earl's daughter,
And a noble knight my sire--
The baron he frowned, and turned away
With mickle[34] dole and ire.
Fair Emmeline sighed, fair Emmeline wept,
And did all trembling stand:
At length she sprang upon her knee,
And held his lifted hand.
Pardon, my lord and father dear,
This fair young knight and me:
Trust me, but for the carlish knight,
I never had fled from thee.
Oft have you called your Emmeline
Your darling and your joy;
O let not then your harsh resolves
Your Emmeline destroy.
The baron he stroked his dark-brown cheek,
And turned his head aside
To wipe away the starting tear
He proudly strove to hide.
In deep revolving thought he stood,
And mused a little space:
Then raised fair Emmeline from the ground,
With many a fond embrace.
[Illustration: THE CHILD OF ELLE.]
Here, take her, Childe of Elle, he said,
And gave her lily hand;
Here, take my dear and only child,
And with her half my land:
Thy father once mine honour wronged
In days of youthful pride;
Do thou the injury repair
In fondness for thy bride.
And as thou love her, and hold her dear,
Heaven prosper thee and thine:
And now my blessing wend wi' thee,
My lovely Emmeline.
FOOTNOTES:
[26] Knight.
[27] Bedeck'd.
[28] Eyes.
[29] Churlish.
[30] Stopped.
[31] Lose.
[32] Go.
[33] Good.
[34] Much grief.
ADAM BELL, CLYM OF THE CLOUGH,[35] AND WILLIAM OF CLOUDESLY.
PART THE FIRST.
Merry it was in the green forest
Among the leaves green,
Wherein men hunt east and west
With bows and arrows keen;
To raise the deer out of their den;
Such sights hath oft been seen;
As by three yeomen of the north countrey,
By them it is I mean.
The one of them hight[36] Adam Bell,
The other Clym of the Clough,
The third was William of Cloudesly,
An archer good enough.
They were outlawed for venison,
These yeomen everyone;
They swore together upon a day,
To English wood to be gone.
Now lithe and listen, gentlemen,
That of mirth loveth to hear:
Two of them were single men,
The third had a wedded fere.[37]
William was the wedded man,
Much more then was his care:
He said to his brethren upon a day,
To Carlisle he would fare,[38]
For to speak with fair Alice his wife,
And with his children three.
By my troth, said Adam Bell,
Not by the counsel of me:
For if ye go to Carlisle, brother,
And from this wild wood wend,
If that the justice should you take,
Your life were at an end.
If that I come not to-morrow, brother,
By pryme[39] to you again,
Trust you then that I am taken
Or else that I am slain.
He took his leave of his brethren two,
And to Carlisle he is gone:
There he knock'd at his own window
Shortly and anon.
Where be you, fair Alice, he said,
My wife and children three?
Lightly let in thine own husband,
William of Cloudesly.
Alas! then said fair Alice,
And sighed wondrous sore,
This place hath been beset for you
This half a year and more.
Now am I here, said Cloudesly,
I would that in I were:
Now fetch us meat and drink enough,
And let us make good cheer.
She fetched him meat and drink plenty,
Like a true wedded wife;
And pleased him with that she had,
Whom she loved as her life.
There lay an old wife in that place,
A little beside the fire,
Which William had found of charity
More than seven year.
Up she rose, and forth she goes,
Evil may she speed therefore;
For she had set no foot on ground
In seven year before.
She went unto the justice hall,
As fast as she could hie:
This night, she said, is come to town
William of Cloudesly.
Thereat the justice was full fayne,[40]
And so was the sheriff also:
Thou shalt not travel hither, dame, for nought;
Thy meed thou shalt have ere thou go.
They gave to her a right good gown
Of scarlet, and of grain:[41]
She took the gift, and home she went,
And couched her down again.
They raised the town of merry Carlisle
In all the haste they can;
And came thronging to William's house,
As fast as they might ran.
There they beset that good yeoman
Round about on every side:
William heard great noise of folks
That thither-ward fast hied.
Alice opened a back window
And looked all about,
She was 'ware of the justice and sheriff both,
And with them a great rout.
Alas! treason, cried Alice,
Ever woe may thou be!
Go into my chamber, husband, she said,
Sweet William of Cloudesly.
He took his sword and his buckler,
His bow and his children three,
And went into his strongest chamber,
Where he thought surest to be.
Fair Alice, like a lover true,
Took a pollaxe in her hand:
Said, He shall die that cometh in
This door, while I may stand.
Cloudesly bent a right good bow,
That was of a trusty tree,
He smote the justice on the breast,
That his arrow burst in three.
[Illustration: ADAM BELL AND CLYM OF THE CLOUGH.]
A curse on his heart, said William,
This day thy coat put on!
If it had been no better than mine,
That had gone near thy bone.
Yield thee, Cloudesly, said the justice,
And thy bow and thy arrows thee fro'.
A curse on his heart, said fair Alice,
That my husband counselleth so.
Set fire on the house, said the sheriff,
Since it will no better be,
And burn we therein William, he said,
His wife and children three.
They fired the house in many a place,
The fire flew up on high:
Alas! then cried fair Alice,
I see we here shall die.
William opened a back window,
That was in his chamber hi',
And there with sheets he did let down
His wife and children three.
Have you here my treasure, said William,
My wife and my children three:
For Christ's love do them no harm,
But wreak you all on me.
William shot so wondrous well,
Till his arrows were all ago',
And the fire so fast upon him fell
That his bowstring burnt in two.
The sparkles burnt and fell upon
Good William of Cloudesly:
Then was he a woeful man, and said,
This is a coward's death to me.
Liever had I, said William,
With my sword in the route to run,
Than here among mine enemies wode[42]
Thus cruelly to burn.
He took his sword and his buckler,
And among them all he ran:
Where the people were most in prece,[43]
He smote down many a man.
There might no man abide his strokes,
So fiercely on them he ran:
Then they threw windows, and doors on him,
And so took that good yeoman.
There they him bound both hand and foot,
And in deep dungeon him cast:
Now Cloudesly, said the justice,
Thou shalt be hanged in haste.
A pair of new gallows, said the sheriff,
Now shall I for thee make;
And the gates of Carlisle shall be shut:
No man shall come in thereat.
Then shall not help Clym of the Clough,
Nor yet shall Adam Bell,
Though they came with a thousand more,
Nor all the devils in hell.
Early in the morning the justice uprose,
To the gates first gan he to gon',
And commanded to be shut full close
Lightly every one.
Then went he to the market place,
As fast as he could hie;
There a pair of new gallows he set up
Beside the pillory.
A little boy among them asked,
What meaneth that gallows-tree?
They said to hang a good yeoman,
Called William of Cloudesly.
That little boy was the town swine-herd,
And kept fair Alice's swine;
Oft he had seen William in the wood,
And given him there to dine.
He went out at a crevice in the wall,
And lightly to the wood did gon';
There met he with these wight yeomen
Shortly and anon.
Alas! then said that little boy,
Ye tarry here all too long;
Cloudesly is taken, and dampned[44] to death,
All ready for to hong.[45]
Alas! then said good Adam Bell,
That ever we see this day!
He had better with us have tarried,
So oft as we did him pray.
He might have dwelt in green forest,
Under the shadows green,
And have kept both him and us at rest,
Out of all trouble and teen.[46]
Adam bent a right good bow,
A great hart soon he had slain;
Take that, child, he said, to thy dinner,
And bring me mine arrow again.
Now go we hence, said these wight yeomen,
Tarry we no longer here;
We shall him borrow[47] by God his grace,
Though we buy it full dear.
To Carlisle went these bold yeomen,
All in the morning of May.
Here is a FYT[48] of Cloudesly,
And another is for to say.
PART THE SECOND.
And when they came to merry Carlisle,
All in the morning tide,
They found the gates shut them against
About on every side.
Alas! then said good Adam Bell,
That ever we were made men!
These gates he shut so wondrous fast,
We may not come therein.
Then bespake him Clym of the Clough,
With a wile we will us in bring;
Let us say we be messengers,
Straight come now from our king.
Adam said, I have a letter written,
Now let us wisely work,
We will say we have the king's seal;
I hold the porter no clerk.
Then Adam Bell beat on the gates
With strokes great and strong,
The porter marvelled who was there,
And to the gates he throng.[49]
Who is there now, said the porter,
That maketh all this knocking?
We be two messengers, quoth Clym of the Clough,
Be come right from our king.
We have a letter, said Adam Bell,
To the justice we must it bring;
Let us in our message to do,
That we may again to the king.
Here cometh none in, said the porter,
By him that died on a tree,
Till a false thief be hanged up,
Called William of Cloudesly.
Then spake the good yeoman, Clym of the Clough,
And swore by Mary free,
And if that we stand long without,
Like a thief hanged thou shalt be.
Lo! here we have the king's seal:
What, Lurden,[50] art thou wood?[51]
The porter thought it had been so,
And lightly did off his hood.
Welcome is my lord's seal, he said;
For that ye shall come in.
He opened the gate full shortly;
An evil opening for him.
Now are we in, said Adam Bell,
Whereof we are full fain;
But Christ he knowes, that harrowed hell,
How we shall come out again.
Had we the keys, said Clym of the Clough,
Right well then should we speed,
Then might we come out well enough
When we see time and need.
They called the porter to counsel,
And wrung his neck in two,
And cast him in a deep dungeon,
And took his keys him fro'.
Now am I porter, said Adam Bell,
See, brother, the keys are here,
The worst porter to merry Carlisle
That they had this hundred year.
And now will we our bows bend,
Into the town will we go,
For to deliver our dear brother,
That lyeth in care and woe.
Then they bent their good yew bows,
And looked their strings were round,
The market place in merry Carlisle
They beset that stound.[52]
And, as they looked them beside,
A pair of new gallows they see,
And the justice with a quest of squires,
Had judged William hanged to be.
And Cloudesly lay ready there in a cart,
Fast bound both foot and hand;
And a strong rope about his neck,
All ready for to hang.
The justice called to him a lad,
Cloudesly's clothes he should have,
To take the measure of that yeoman,
Thereafter to make his grave.
I have seen as great marvel, said Cloudesly,
As between this and pryme,[53]
He that maketh a grave for me
Himself may lie therein.
Thou speakest proudly, said the justice,
I will thee hang with my hand.
Full well heard this his brethren two,
There still as they did stand.
Then Cloudesly cast his eyes aside,
And saw his brethren twain
At a corner of the market place,
Ready the justice for to slain.
I see comfort, said Cloudesly,
Yet hope I well to fare,
If I might have my hands at will
Right little would I care.
Then spake good Adam Bell
To Clym of the Clough so free,
Brother, see you mark the justice well;
Lo! yonder you may him see:
And at the sheriff shoot I will
Strongly with arrow keen;
A better shot in merry Carlisle
This seven year was not seen.
They loosed their arrows both at once,
Of no man had they dread;
The one hit the justice, the other the sheriff,
That both their sides 'gan bleed.
All men 'voided, that them stood nigh,
When the justice fell to the ground,
And the sheriff nigh him by;
Either had his death's wound.
All the citizens fast began to fly,
They durst no longer abide:
There lightly they loosed Cloudesly,
Where he with ropes lay tied.
William start to an officer of the town,
His axe from his hand he wrung,
On each side he smote them down,
He thought he tarried too long.
William said to his brethren two,
This day let us live and die,
If ever you have need, as I have now,
The same shall you find by me.
They shot so well in that tide,
Their strings were of silk full sure,
That they kept the streets on every side;
That battle did long endure.
They fought together as brethren true,
Like hardy men and bold,
Many a man to the ground they threw,
And many a heart made cold.
But when their arrows were all gone,
Men pressed to them full fast,
They drew their swords then anon,
And their bows from them cast.
They went lightly on their way,
With swords and bucklers round;
By that it was mid of the day,
They made many a wound.
There was many an out-horn[54] in Carlisle blown,
And the bells backward did ring,
Many a woman said, Alas!
And many their hands did wring.
The mayor of Carlisle forth was come,
With him a full great rout:
These yeomen dreaded him full sore,
Of their lives they stood in doubt.
The mayor came armed at full great pace,
With a pollaxe in his hand;
Many a strong man with him was,
There in that stowre[55] to stand.
The mayor smote at Cloudesly with his bill,
His buckler he burst in two,
Full many a yeoman with great evil,
Alas! Treason they cried for woe.
Keep well the gates fast, they bade,
That these traitors thereout not go.
But all for nought was that they wrought,
For so fast they down were laid,
Till they all three, that so manfully fought,
Were gotten without, abroad.
Have here your keys, said Adam Bell,
Mine office I here forsake,
And if you do by my counsel
A new porter do ye make.
He threw their keys at their heads,
And bade them well to thrive,
And all that letteth[56] any good yeoman
To come and comfort his wife.
Thus be these good yeomen gone to the wood,
And lightly, as leaf on lynde;[57]
To laugh and be merry in their mood,
Their enemies were far behind.
And when they came to English wood,
Under the trusty tree,
There they found bows full good,
And arrows full great plenty.
So God me help, said Adam Bell,
And Clym of the Clough so free,
I would we were in merry Carlisle,
Before that fair meynye.[58]
They sate them down, and made good cheer,
And ate and drank full well.
A second FYT of the wighty yeomen,
Another I will you tell.
PART THE THIRD.
As they sat in the merry green wood,
Under the green-wood tree,
They thought they heard a woman weep,
But her they mought[59] not see.
Sore then sighed the fair Alice:
That ever I saw this day!
For now is my dear husband slain:
Alas! and well-a-way!
Might I have spoken to his dear brethren,
Or with either of them twain,
To show to them what him befell,
My heart were out of pain.
Cloudesly walked a little beside,
He looked under the green-wood lynde;
He was aware of his wife, and children three,
Full woe in heart and mind.
Welcome, wife, then said William,
Under this trusty tree:
I had ween'd yesterday, by sweet saint John,
Thou shouldst me never have see.
Now well is me that ye be here,
My heart is out of woe;
Dame, he said, be merry and glad,
And thank my brethren two.
Hereof to speak, said Adam Bell,
I think it is no boot:
The meat, that we must sup withal,
It runneth yet fast on foot.
Then went they down into a lawn,
These noble archers all three;
Each of them slew a hart of grease,[60]
The best that they could see.
Have here the best, Alice my wife,
Said William of Cloudesly;
Because ye so boldly stood by me
When I was slain full nigh.
Then went they all into supper
With such meat as they had;
And thanked God of their fortune:
They were both merry and glad.
And when they all had supped well,
Certainly without lease,[61]
Cloudesly said, We will to our king,
To get us a charter of peace.
Alice shall be at our sojourning
In a nunnery here beside;
My two sons shall with her go,
And there they shall abide.
Mine eldest son shall go with me;
For him have you no care:
And he shall bring you word again,
How that we do fare.
Thus be these yeomen to London gone,
As fast as they might hie,
Till they came to the king's palace,
Where they would needs be.
And when they came to the king's court,
Unto the palace gate,
Of no man would they ask no leave,
But boldly went in thereat.
They pressed prestly[62] into the hall,
Of no man had they dread:
The porter came after, and did them call,
And with them began to chide.
The usher said, Yeoman, what would ye have?
I pray you tell to me:
You might thus make officers shent:[63]
Good sirs, of whence be ye?
Sir, we be outlaws of the forest
Certainly without lease;
And hither we be come to our king,
To get us a charter of peace.
And when they came before the king,
As it was the law of the land,
They kneeled down without hindrance,
And each held up his hand.
They said, Lord, we beseech thee here,
That you will grant us grace;
For we have slain your fat fallow deer
In many a sundry place.
What be your names, then said our king,
Anon that you tell me?
They said, Adam Bell, Clym of the Clough,
And William of Cloudesly.
Be ye those thieves, then said our king,
That men have told of to me?
Here to God I make a vow,
Ye shall be hanged all three.
[Illustration: WILLIAM OF CLOUDESLY.]
Ye shall be dead without mercy,
As I am king of this land.
He commanded his officers everyone,
Fast on them to lay hand.
There they took these good yeomen,
And arrested them all three:
So may I thrive, said Adam Bell,
This game liketh not me.
But, good lord, we beseech you now,
That ye grant us grace,
Insomuch as freely to you we come,
As freely we may from you pass,
With such weapons as we have here,
Till we be out of your place;
And if we live this hundred year,
We will ask you no grace.
Ye speak proudly, said the king;
Ye shall be hanged all three.
That were great pity, then said the queen,
If any grace might be.
My lord, when I came first into this land
To be your wedded wife,
The first boon that I would ask,
Ye would grant it me belyfe:[64]
And I never asked none till now;
Therefore, good lord, grant it me.
Now ask it, madam, said the king,
And granted it shall be.
Then, good my lord, I you beseech,
These yeomen grant ye me.
Madame, ye might have asked a boon,
That should have been worth them all three.
Ye might have asked towers and towns,
Parks and forests plenty.
None so pleasant to my liking, she said;
Nor none so lefe[65] to me.
Madame, since it is your desire,
Your asking granted shall be;
But I had lever[66] have given you
Good market towns three.
The queen she was a glad woman,
And said, Lord, gramercy:
I dare undertake for them,
That true men shall they be.
But, good my lord, speak some merry word,
That comfort they may see.
I grant you grace, then said our king;
Wash, fellows, and to meat go ye.
They had not setten but a while
Certain, without lesynge,[67]
There came messengers out of the north
With letters to our king.
And when they came before the king,
They knelt down on their knee:
And said, Lord, your officers greet you well,
Of Carlisle, in the north country.
How fareth my justice, said the king,
And my sheriff also?
Sir, they be slain, without lesynge,
And many an officer mo'.
Who hath them slain, said the king;
Anon thou tell to me?
Adam Bell, and Clym of the Clough,
And William of Cloudesly.
Alas for ruth! then said our king:
My heart is wondrous sore;
I had rather than a thousand pound,
I had known of this before;
For I have granted them grace,
And that forthinketh me:
But had I known all this before,
They had been hanged all three.
The king he opened the letter anon,
Himself he read it thro',
And found how these outlaws had slain
Three hundred men and mo':
First the justice, and the sheriff,
And the mayor of Carlisle town;
Of all the constables and catchpolls
Alive were scarce left one:
The baillies, and the beadles both,
And the sergeants of the law,
And forty foresters of the fee,[68]
These outlaws had yslaw.[69]
And broke his parks, and slain his deer;
Of all they chose the best;
Such perilous outlaws, as they were,
Walked not by east nor west.
When the king this letter had read,
In his heart he sighed sore:
Take up the tables anon he said,
For I may eat no more.
The king called his best archers
To the butts with him to go:
I will see these fellows shoot, he said,
In the north have wrought this woe.
The king's bowmen buske[70] them blyve,[71]
And the queen's archers also;
So did these three wighty yeomen;
With them they thought to go.
There twice or thrice they shot about
For to assay their hand;
There was no shot these yeomen shot,
That any prick might stand.
Then spake William of Cloudesly;
By Him that for me died,
I hold him never no good archer,
That shooteth at butts so wide.
At what a butt now would you shoot,
I pray thee tell to me?
At such a butt, sir, he said,
As men use in my country.
William went into a field,
And with him his two brethren:
There they set up two hazel rods
Twenty score paces between.
I hold him an archer, said Cloudesly,
That yonder wand cleaveth in two.
Here is none such, said the king,
Nor none that can so do.
I shall assay, sir, said Cloudesly,
Or that I farther go.
Cloudesly with a bearyng[72] arrow
Clave the wand in two.
Thou art the best archer, then said the king,
For sooth that ever I see.
And yet for your love, said William,
I will do more mastery.
I have a son is seven year old,
He is to me full dear;
I will him tie to a stake;
All shall see, that be here;
And lay an apple upon his head,
And go six score pace him fro',
And I myself with a broad arrow
Shall cleave the apple in two.
Now haste thee, then said the king,
By Him that died on a tree,
But if thou do not as thou hast said,
Hanged shalt thou be.
An thou touch his head or gown,
In sight that men may see,
By all the saints that be in heaven,
I shall hang you all three.
That I have promised, said William,
That I will never forsake.
And there even before the king
In the earth he drove a stake:
And bound thereto his eldest son,
And bade him stand still thereat;
And turned the child's face him from,
Because he should not start.
An apple upon his head he set,
And then his bow he bent:
Six score paces they were meaten,[73]
And thither Cloudesly went.
There he drew out a fair broad arrow,
His bow was great and long,
He set that arrow in his bow,
That was both stiff and strong.
He prayed the people that were there,
That they all still would stand,
For he that shooteth for such a wager,
Behoveth a stedfast hand.
Much people prayed for Cloudesly,
That his life saved might be,
And when he made him ready to shoot,
There was many a weeping ee.
But Cloudesly cleft the apple in two,
His son he did not nee.[74]
Over Gods forebode,[75] said the king,
That thou should shoot at me.
I give thee eighteen pence a day,
And my bow shalt thou bear,
And over all the north country
I make thee chief ranger.
And I thirteen pence a day, said the queen,
By God, and by my fa';
Come fetch thy payment when thou wilt,
No man shall say thee nay.
William, I make thee a gentleman
Of clothing, and of fee:
And thy two brethren, yeomen of my chamber,
For they are so seemly to see.
Your son, for he is tender of age,
Of my wine-cellar he shall be;
And when he cometh to man's estate,
Better advanced shall he be.
And, William, bring to me your wife, said the queen,
Me longeth her sore to see:
She shall be my chief gentlewoman,
To govern my nursery.
The yeomen thanked them courteously.
To some bishop will we wend,
Of all the sins that we have done,
To be assoyld[76] at his hand.
So forth be gone these good yeomen,
As fast as they might he;[77]
And after came and dwelled with the king,
And died good men all three.
Thus ended the lives of these good yeomen;
God send them eternal bliss.
And all, that with a hand-bow shooteth,
That of heaven they never miss. Amen.
FOOTNOTES:
[35] Clem (Clement) of the cliff.
[36] Called.
[37] Mate.
[38] Pass.
[39] Noon.
[40] Glad.
[41] Red.
[42] Wild.
[43] Pressed.
[44] Condemned.
[45] Hang.
[46] Sorrow.
[47] Redeem.
[48] Part of a song.
[49] Hastened.
[50] Sluggard.
[51] Mad.
[52] Time.
[53] Noon.
[54] Summons to arms.
[55] Fight.
[56] Hindereth.
[57] Lime-tree.
[58] Company.
[59] Might for could.
[60] Fat hart.
[61] Lies.
[62] Quickly.
[63] Disgraced.
[64] Immediately.
[65] Dear.
[66] Rather.
[67] Lies.
[68] The King's foresters.
[69] Slain.
[70] Dress.
[71] Instantly.
[72] An arrow that flies well.
[73] Measured.
[74] Nigh.
[75] God forbid.
[76] Absolved.
[77] Hie.
SIR LANCELOT DU LAKE.
When Arthur first in court began,
And was approved king,
By force of arms great victories won,
And conquest home did bring.
Then into England straight he came
With fifty good and able
Knights, that resorted unto him,
And were of his round table:
And he had jousts and tournaments,
Whereto were many prest,
Wherein some knights did far excell
And far surmount the rest.
But one, Sir Lancelot du Lake,
Who was approved well,
He for his deeds and feats of arms,
All others did excell.
When he had rested him a while,
In play, and game, and sport,
He said he would go prove himself
In some adventurous sort.
He armed rode in forest wide,
And met a damsel fair,
Who told him of adventures great,
Whereto he gave good ear.
Such would I find, quoth Lancelot:
For that cause came I hither.
Thou seem'st, quoth she, a knight full good,
And I will bring thee thither,
Whereas a mighty knight doth dwell,
That now is of great fame:
Therefore tell me what wight thou art,
And what may be thy name.
My name is Lancelot du Lake.
Quoth she, it likes me then:
Here dwells a knight who never was
Yet matcht with any man:
Who has in prison threescore knights
And four, that he did wound;
Knights of king Arthur's court they be,
And of his table round.
She brought him to a river side,
And also to a tree,
Whereon a copper bason hung,
And many shields to see.
[Illustration: SIR LANCELOT DU LAKE.]
He struck so hard, the bason broke;
And Tarquin soon he spied:
Who drove a horse before him fast,
Whereon a knight lay tied.
Sir knight, then said Sir Lancelot,
Bring me that horse-load hither,
And lay him down, and let him rest;
We'll try our force together:
For, as I understand, thou hast,
So far as thou art able,
Done great despite and shame unto
The knights of the Round Table.
If thou be of the Table Round,
Quoth Tarquin speedily,
Both thee and all thy fellowship
I utterly defy.
That's over much, quoth Lancelot, though,
Defend thee by and by.
They set their spears unto their steeds,
And each at other fly.
They couched their spears, (their horses ran,
As though there had been thunder)
And struck them each immidst their shields,
Wherewith they broke in sunder.
Their horses' backs brake under them,
The knights were both astound:
To avoid their horses they make haste
And light upon the ground.
They took them to their shields full fast,
Their swords they drew out then,
With mighty strokes most eagerly
Each at the other ran.
They wounded were, and bled full sore,
For both for breath did stand,
And leaning on their swords awhile,
Quoth Tarquin, Hold thy hand,
And tell to me what I shall ask.
Say on, quoth Lancelot tho.[78]
Thou art, quoth Tarquin, the best knight
That ever I did know;
And like a knight, that I did hate:
So that thou be not he,
I will deliver all the rest,
And eke accord with thee.
That is well said, quoth Lancelot;
But since it must be so,
What knight is that thou hatest thus?
I pray thee to me show.
His name is Lancelot du Lake,
He slew my brother dear;
Him I suspect of all the rest:
I would I had him here.
Thy wish thou hast, but yet unknown,
I am Lancelot du Lake,
Now knight of Arthur's Table Round;
King Haud's son, of Schuwake;
And I desire thee do thy worst.
Ho, ho, quoth Tarquin tho,
One of us two shall end our lives
Before that we do go.
If thou be Lancelot du Lake,
Then welcome shalt thou be;
Wherefore see thou thyself defend,
For now defy I thee.
They buckled then together so,
Like unto wild boars rashing,
And with their swords and shields they ran
At one another slashing:
The ground besprinkled was with blood:
Tarquin began to yield;
For he gave back for weariness,
And low did bear his shield.
This soon Sir Lancelot espied,
He leapt upon him then,
He pull'd him down upon his knee,
And rushing[79] off his helm,
Forthwith he struck his neck in two,
And, when he had so done,
From prison threescore knights and four
Delivered every one.
FOOTNOTES:
[78] Then.
[79] Tearing.
THE FROLICKSOME DUKE; OR, THE TINKER'S GOOD FORTUNE.
Now as fame does report, a young duke keeps a court,
One that pleases his fancy with frolicksome sport:
But amongst all the rest, here is one I protest,
Which will make you to smile when you hear the true jest:
A poor tinker he found, lying drunk on the ground,
As secure in a sleep as if laid in a swound.
The duke said to his men, William, Richard, and Ben,
Take him home to my palace, we'll sport with him then.
O'er a horse he was laid, and with care soon convey'd
To the palace, altho' he was poorly array'd:
Then they stript off his clothes, both his shirt, shoes, and hose,
And they put him to bed for to take his repose.
Having pull'd off his shirt, which was all over dirt,
They did give him clean holland, this was no great hurt:
On a bed of soft down, like a lord of renown,
They did lay him to sleep the drink out of his crown.
In the morning when day, then admiring he lay,
For to see the rich chamber both gaudy and gay.
Now he lay something late, in his rich bed of state,
Till at last knights and squires, they on him did wait;
And the chamberlain bare,[80] then did likewise declare,
He desir'd to know what apparel he'd wear:
The poor tinker amaz'd, on the gentleman gaz'd,
And admired[81] how he to this honour was rais'd.
Tho' he seem'd something mute, yet he chose a rich suit,
Which he straitways put on without longer dispute;
With a star on his side, which the tinker oft ey'd,
And it seem'd for to swell him no little with pride;
For he said to himself, Where is Joan my sweet wife?
Sure she never did see me so fine in her life.
From a convenient place, the right duke his good grace
Did observe his behaviour in every case.
To a garden of state, on the tinker they wait,
Trumpet sounding before him: thought he, this is great:
Where an hour or two, pleasant walks he did view,
With commanders and squires in scarlet and blue.
A fine dinner was drest, both for him and his guests,
He was plac'd at the table above all the rest,
In a rich chair or bed, lin'd with fine crimson red,
With a rich golden canopy over his head:
As he sat at his meat, the music play'd sweet,
With the choicest of singing his joys to complete.
While the tinker did dine, he had plenty of wine,
Rich canary with sherry and tent superfine.
Like a right honest soul, faith, he took off his bowl,
Till at last he began for to tumble and roll
From his chair to the floor, where he sleeping did snore,
Being seven times drunker than ever before.
Then the duke did ordain, they should strip him amain,
And restore him his old leather garments again:
Twas a point next the worst, yet perform it they must,
And they carried him strait, where they found him at first;
Then he slept all the night, as indeed well he might;
But when he did waken, his joys took their flight.
For his glory to him so pleasant did seem,
That he thought it to be but a mere golden dream;
Till at length he was brought to the duke, where he sought
For a pardon, as fearing he had set him at nought;
But his highness he said, Thou'rt a jolly bold blade,
Such a frolic before I think never was play'd.
Then his highness bespoke him a new suit and cloak,
Which he gave for the sake of this frolicksome joke;
Nay, and five hundred pound, with ten acres of ground,
Thou shalt never, said he, range the countries around,
Crying "old brass to mend," for I'll be thy good friend,
Nay, and Joan thy sweet wife shall my duchess attend.
Then the tinker reply'd, What! must Joan my sweet bride
Be a lady in chariots of pleasure to ride?
Must we have gold and land ev'ry day at command?
Then I shall be a squire I well understand:
Well I thank your good grace, and your love I embrace,
I was never before in so happy a case.
FOOTNOTES:
[80] Bare-headed.
[81] Wondered.
THE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY CHASE.
God prosper long our noble king,
Our lives and safeties all;
A woful hunting once there did
In Chevy Chase befall;
To drive the deer with hound and horn,
Earl Percy took his way;
The child may rue that is unborn
The hunting of that day.
The stout Earl of Northumberland
A vow to God did make,
His pleasure in the Scottish woods
Three summer days to take;
The chiefest harts in Chevy Chase
To kill and bear away.
These tidings to Earl Douglas came,
In Scotland where he lay: