Chapter 4
"Ye might have ask-ed towers and towns, Parks and for-ests plent-y."-- "None so pleasant to my pay," she said, "Nor none so lief to me."-- "Madam, sith it is your desire, Your asking granted shall be; But I had liever have given you Good market town-es three."
The Queen she was a glad wom-an, And said: "Lord, gramerc-y, I dare well undertake for them That true men shall they be. But, good 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 sitten but a while, Certain, without leas-ing, There came two messengers out of the north, With letters to our King. And when they came before the King, They kneeled down upon their knee, And said: "Lord, your officers greet you well Of Carlisle in the north countree."--
"How fareth my Justice?" said the King, "And my Sheriff also?"-- "Sir, they be slain, without leas-ing, And many an officer mo."-- "Who hath them slain?" then said the King, "Anon thou tell-e me."-- "Adam Bell, and Clym of the Clough, And William of Cloudeslie."--
"Alas, for ruth!" then said our King, "My heart is wondrous sore; I had liever than a thousand pound I had known of this before; For I have y-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 tho, And found how these three outlaws had slain Three hundred men and mo; First the Justice and the Sheriff, And the Mayor of Carlisle town, Of all the const-ables and catchipolls Alive were left but one;
The bailiffs and the bedels both, And the serjeants of the law, And forty fosters of the fee, These outlaws have they slaw; And broken his parks, and slain his deer, Over all they chose the best, So perilous outlaws as they were, Walked not by east nor west.
When the King this letter had read, In his heart he sigh-ed sore: "Take up the table," anon he bade: "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, "That in the north have wrought this woe."
The King-es bowmen busk them blive, And the Queen's archers also, So did these three wight 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 them stand.
Then spake William of Cloudeslie: "By Him that for me died, I hold him never no good archer, That shooteth at butts so wide."-- "Whereat, then?" said our King, "I pray thee tell to me."-- "At such a butt, sir," he said, "As men use in my countree."--
William went into the field, And his two brothers with him, There they set up two hazel rods, Twenty score paces between. "I hold him an archer," said Cloudeslie, "That yonder wand cleaveth in two."-- "Here is none such," said the King, "For no man that can so do."
"I shall assay, sir," said Cloudeslie, "Ere that I farther go." Cloudeslie with a bearing arrow Clave the wand in two. "Thou art the best archer," said the King, "Forsooth that ever I see."-- "And yet for your love," said William, "I will do more mastrie.
"I have a son is seven year old; He is to me full dear; I will tie him to a stake, All shall see him that be here, And lay an apple upon his head, And go six score paces 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, Hang-ed 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 you hang 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 turn-ed the child's face him fro, Because he should not start.
An apple upon his head he set, And then his bow he bent, Six score paces they were out met, And thither Cloudeslie 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 was there, That they would still stand: For he that shooteth for such a wag-er Hath need of a steady hand. Much people prayed for Cloudeslie, That his life saved might be; And when he made him ready to shoot, There was many a weeping ee.
Thus Cloudeslie cleft the apple in two, As many a man might see. "Now God forbid," then said the King, "That ever thou shoot at me! I give thee eighteen pence a day, And my bow shalt thou bear, And over all the north countree I make thee chief rid-er."--
"And I give thee seventeen pence a day," said the Queen, "By God and by my fay, 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 seemly to see;
"Your son, for he is tender of age, Of my wine-cellar shall he be, And when he cometh to man's estate, Better preferred shall he be. And, William, bring 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 full courteously, And said: "To some bishop we'll wend, Of all the sins that we have done To be assoiled at his hand." So forth be gone these good yeomen, As fast as they might hie; And after came and dwelt 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 may never miss!
BINNORIE.
There were two sisters sat in a bour; Binnorie, O Binnorie! There came a knight to be their wooer By the bonny mill-dams of Binnorie.
He courted the eldest with glove and ring, But he lo'ed the youngest aboon a' thing.
He courted the eldest with brooch and knife, But he lo'ed the youngest aboon his life.
The eldest she was vex-ed sair, And sore envi-ed her sister fair.
Upon a morning fair and clear She cried upon her sister dear:
"O, sister, come to yon river strand, And see our father's ships come to land."
She's ta'en her by the lily hand, And led her down to the river strand.
And as they walk-ed by the linn, The eldest dang the youngest in.
"O, sister, sister, reach your hand, And ye'll be heir to a' my land!"--
"Foul fa' the hand that I wad take To twin me o' my warld's make!"--
"O, sister, reach me but your glove, And sweet William shall be your love!"--
"Sink on, nor hope for hand or glove, And sweet William shall be my love:
"Your cherry cheeks and your yellow hair Garr'd me gang maiden evermair."
She clasped her hands about a broom root, But her cruel sister she loosed them out.
Sometimes she sunk, and sometimes she swam, Until she came to the miller's dam.
The miller's daughter was baking bread, She went for water as she had need.
"O father, father, draw your dam! There's either a maid or a milk-white swan!"
The miller hasted and drew his dam, And there he found a drowned wom-an.
You couldna see her yellow hair For gowd and pearls that were sae rare;
You couldna see her middle sma', Her gowden girdle was sae bra'.
A famous harper passing by, The sweet pale face he chanced to spy;
And when he looked that ladye on, He sighed and made a heavy moan.
He made a harp of her breast-bone, Whose sounds would melt a heart of stone;
He's ta'en three locks of her yellow hair, And wi' them strung his harp sae fair.
He brought it to her father's hall, And there was the court assembled all.
He laid this harp upon a stone, And straight it began to play alone:
"Oh, yonder sits my father, the king, And yonder sits my mother, the queen,
And yonder stands my brother, Hugh, And yonder my William, sweet and true."
But the last tune that the harp played then Binnorie! O Binnorie! Was, "Wae to my sister, false Ellen, By the bonny mill-dams of Binnorie!"
KING COPHETUA AND THE BEGGAR-MAID.
I read that once in Africa A princely wight did reign, Who had to name Cophetua, As poets they did feign: From nature's laws he did decline, For sure he was not of my mind, He car-ed not for women-kind, But did them all disdain. But mark what happened on a day: As he out of his window lay, He saw a beggar all in gray, The which did cause his pain.
The blinded boy, that shoots so trim, From heaven down did hie; He drew a dart and shot at him, In place where he did lie: Which soon did pierce him to the quick, And when he felt the arrow prick, Which in his tender heart did stick, He looked as he would die. "What sudden chance is this," quoth he, "That I to love must subject be, Which never thereto would agree, But still did it defy?"
Then from the window he did come, And laid him on his bed, A thousand heaps of care did run Within his troubled head: For now he means to crave her love, And now he seeks which way to prove How he his fancy might remove, And not this beggar wed. But Cupid had him so in snare, That this poor beggar must prepare A salve to cure him of his care, Or else he would be dead.
And, as he musing thus did lie, He thought for to devise How he might have her company, That so did 'maze his eyes. "In thee," quoth he, "doth rest my life; For surely thou shalt be my wife, Or else this hand with bloody knife The gods shall sure suffice!" Then from his bed he soon arose, And to his palace gate he goes; Full little then this beggar knows When she the king espies.
"The gods preserve your majesty!" The beggars all gan cry: "Vouchsafe to give your charity Our children's food to buy!" The king to them his purse did cast, And they to part it made great haste; This silly woman was the last That after them did hie. The king he called her back again, And unto her he gave his chain; And said, "With us thou shalt remain Till such time as we die:
"For thou," quoth he, "shalt be my wife, And honoured for my queen; With thee I mean to lead my life, As shortly shall be seen: Our wedding shall appointed be, And every thing in its degree; Come on," quoth he, "and follow me, Thou shalt go shift thee clean. What is thy name, fair maid?" quoth he. "Zenelophon, O king," quoth she: With that she made a low courts-ey, A trim one as I ween.
Thus hand in hand along they walk Unto the king's pal-ace: The king with courteous comely talk This beggar doth embrace: The beggar blusheth scarlet red, And straight again as pale as lead, But not a word at all she said, She was in such amaze. At last she spake with trembling voice And said, "O king, I do rejoice That you will take me for your choice, And my degree's so base."
And when the wedding day was come, The king commanded straight The noblemen both all and some Upon the queen to wait. And she behaved herself that day, As if she had never walked the way; She had forgot her gown of gray, Which she did wear of late. The proverb old is come to pass, The priest, when he begins his mass, Forgets that ever clerk he was; He knoweth not his estate.
Here you may read, Cophetua, Though long time fancy-fed, Compell-ed by the blinded boy The beggar for to wed: He that did lovers' looks disdain, To do the same was glad and fain, Or else he would himself have slain, In story as we read. Disdain no whit, O lady dear, But pity now thy servant here, Lest that it hap to thee this year, As to that king it did.
And thus they led a quiet life During their princely reign; And in a tomb were buried both, As writers showeth plain. The lords they took it grievously, The ladies took it heavily, The commons cri-ed piteously, Their death to them was pain. Their fame did sound so passingly, That it did pierce the starry sky, And throughout all the world did fly To every prince's realm.
TAKE THY OLD CLOAK ABOUT THEE.
This winter's weather it waxeth cold, And frost doth freeze on every hill, And Boreas blows his blasts so bold, That all our cattle are like to spill; Bell my wife, who loves no strife, She said unto me quietly, "Rise up, and save cow Crumbock's life; Man, put thine old cloak about thee."
He. "O Bell, why dost thou flyte and scorn? Thou ken'st my cloak is very thin: It is so bare and overworn A crick he thereon cannot renn: Then I'll no longer borrow nor lend, For once I'll new apparelled be, To-morrow I'll to town and spend, For I'll have a new cloak about me."
She. "Cow Crumbock is a very good cow, She ha' been always true to the pail, She's helped us to butter and cheese, I trow, And other things she will not fail: I wad be loth to see her pine, Good husband, counsel take of me, It is not for us to go so fine; Man, take thine old cloak about thee."
He. "My cloak it was a very good cloak, It hath been always true to the wear, But now it is not worth a groat; I have had it four and forty year: Sometime it was of cloth in grain, 'Tis now but a sigh-clout, as you may see, It will neither hold out wind nor rain; And I'll have a new cloak about me."
She. "It is four and forty years ago Since the one of us the other did ken, And we have had betwixt us two Of children either nine or ten; We have brought them up to women and men; In the fear of God I trow they be; And why wilt thou thyself misken? Man, take thine old cloak about thee."
He. "O Bell my wife, why dost thou flout? Now is now, and then was then: Seek now all the world throughout, Thou ken'st not clowns from gentlemen. They are clad in black, green, yellow, or gray, So far above their own degree: Once in my life I'll do as they, For I'll have a new cloak about me."
She. "King Stephen was a worthy peer, His breeches cost him but a crown, He held them sixpence all too dear; Therefore he called the tailor lown. He was a wight of high renown, And thou's but of a low degree: It's pride that puts this country down; Man, take thine old cloak about thee."
He. Bell my wife she loves not strife, Yet she will lead me if she can; And oft, to live a quiet life, I am forced to yield, though I'm good-man; It's not for a man with a woman to threap, Unless he first gave o'er the plea: As we began we now will leave, And I'll take mine old cloak about me.
WILLOW, WILLOW, WILLOW.
A poor soul sat sighing under a sycamore tree; "O willow, willow, willow!" With his hand on his bosom, his head on his knee: "O willow, willow, willow! O willow, willow, willow! Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and."
He sighed in his singing, and after each groan, "Come willow, willow, willow! I am dead to all pleasure, my true-love is gone; O willow, willow, willow! O willow, willow, willow! Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and.
"My love she is turned; untrue she doth prove: O willow, willow, willow! She renders me nothing but hate for my love. O willow, willow, willow! O willow, willow, willow! Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and.
"O pity me," cried he, "ye lovers, each one; O willow, willow, willow! Her heart's hard as marble; she rues not my moan. O willow, willow, willow! O willow, willow, willow! Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and."
The cold streams ran by him, his eyes wept apace; "O willow, willow, willow!" The salt tears fell from him, which drown-ed his face: "O willow, willow, willow! O willow, willow, willow! Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and."
The mute birds sat by him, made tame by his moans: "O willow, willow, willow!" The salt tears fell from him, which softened the stones. "O willow, willow, willow! O willow, willow, willow! Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and.
"Let nobody blame me, her scorns I do prove; O willow, willow, willow! She was born to be fair; I, to die for her love. O willow, willow, willow! O willow, willow, willow! Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and.
"O that beauty should harbour a heart that's so hard! Sing willow, willow, willow! My true love rejecting without all regard. O willow, willow, willow! O willow, willow, willow! Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and.
"Let love no more boast him in palace or bower; O willow, willow, willow! For women are trothless, and fleet in an hour. O willow, willow, willow! O willow, willow, willow! Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and.
"But what helps complaining? In vain I complain: O willow, willow, willow! I must patiently suffer her scorn and disdain. O willow, willow, willow! O willow, willow, willow! Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and.
"Come, all you forsaken, and sit down by me, O willow, willow, willow! He that plains of his false love, mine's falser than she. O willow, willow, willow! O willow, willow, willow! Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and.
"The willow wreath wear I, since my love did fleet; O willow, willow, willow! A garland for lovers forsaken most meet. O willow, willow, willow! O willow, willow, willow! Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and."
PART THE SECOND.
"Low laid by my sorrow, begot by disdain; O willow, willow, willow! Against her too cruel, still still I complain, O willow, willow, willow! O willow, willow, willow! Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and!
"O love too injurious, to wound my poor heart! O willow, willow, willow! To suffer the triumph, and joy in my smart: O willow, willow, willow! O willow, willow, willow! Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and.
"O willow, willow, willow! the willow garl-and, O willow, willow, willow! A sign of her falseness before me doth stand: O willow, willow, willow! O willow, willow, willow! Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and.
"As here it doth bid to despair and to die, O willow, willow, willow! So hang it, friends, o'er me in grave where I lie: O willow, willow, willow! O willow, willow, willow! Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and.
"In grave where I rest me, hang this to the view, O willow, willow, willow! Of all that do know her, to blaze her untrue. O willow, willow, willow! O willow, willow, willow! Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and.
"With these words engraven, as epitaph meet, O willow, willow, willow! 'Here lies one drank poison for potion most sweet,' O willow, willow, willow! O willow, willow, willow! Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and.
"Though she thus unkindly hath scorn-ed my love, O willow, willow, willow! And carelessly smiles at the sorrows I prove; O willow, willow, willow! O willow, willow, willow! Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and.
"I cannot against her unkindly exclaim, O willow, willow, willow! 'Cause once well I loved her, and honoured her name: O willow, willow, willow! O willow, willow, willow! Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and.
"The name of her sounded so sweet in mine ear, O willow, willow, willow! It raised my heart lightly, the name of my dear; O willow, willow, willow! O willow, willow, willow! Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and.
"As then 'twas my comfort, it now is my grief; O willow, willow, willow! It now brings me anguish; then brought me relief. O willow, willow, willow! O willow, willow, willow! Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and.
"Farewell, fair false-hearted: plaints end with my breath! O willow, willow, willow! Thou dost loathe me, I love thee, though cause of my death. O willow, willow, willow! O willow, willow, willow! Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and."
THE LITTLE WEE MAN.
As I gaed out to tak the air Between Midmar and bonny Craigha', There I met a little wee man, The less o' him I never saw.
His legs were but a finger lang, And thick and nimble was his knee; Between his brows there was a span, Between his shoulders ell-es three.
He lifted a stane sax feet in height, He lifted it up till his right knee, And fifty yards and mair I'm sure, I wite he made the stane to flee.
"O, little wee man, but ye hae power! And O, where may your dwelling be?"-- "I dwell beneath yon bonny bower. O, will ye gae wi' me and see?"--
Sae on we lap, and awa' we rade Till we come to yon little ha', The kipples were o' the gude red gowd, The roof was o' the proseyla.
There were pipers playing in every neuk, And ladies dancing, jimp and sma'; And aye the owre-turn o' their tune Was, "Our wee wee man has been long awa!"
Out gat the lights, on cam the mist Ladies nor mannie mair could see, I turned about, and ga'e a look Just at the foot o' Benachie.
THE SPANISH LADY'S LOVE. AFTER THE TAKING OF CADIZ.
Will you hear a Spanish lady, How she wooed an Englishman? Garments gay and rich as may be Decked with jewels she had on. Of a comely countenance and grace was she, And by birth and parentage of high degree.
As his prisoner there he kept her, In his hands her life did lie; Cupid's bands did tie them faster By the liking of an eye. In his courteous company was all her joy, To favour him in anything she was not coy.