Chapter 5
[115] Twelvescore paces off.
[116] Part of the side of the ship.
[117] Fitted out.
[118] Flags.
[119] _i.e._ Did not salute.
[120] Portuguese.
[121] However this affair will end.
[122] Climbed.
[123] The arm-pit.
BRAVE LORD WILLOUGHBEY.[124]
The fifteenth day of July, With glistering spear and shield, A famous fight in Flanders Was foughten on the field: The most courageous officers Were English captains three; But the bravest man in battle Was brave lord Willoughbèy.
The next was captain Norris, A valiant man was he: The other captain Turner, From field would never flee. With fifteen hundred fighting men, Alas! there were no more, They fought with fourteen thousand then, Upon the bloody shore.
Stand to it noble pikemen, And look you round about: And shoot you right you bowmen, And we will keep them out: You musket and calliver[125] men, Do you prove true to me, I'll be the foremost man in fight, Says brave lord Willoughbèy.
And then the bloody enemy They fiercely did assail, And fought it out most furiously, Not doubting to prevail: The wounded men on both sides fell Most piteous for to see, Yet nothing could the courage quell Of brave lord Willoughbèy.
For seven hours to all men's view This fight endured sore, Until our men so feeble grew, That they could fight no more; And then upon dead horses Full savourly they ate, And drank the puddle water, They could no better get.
When they had fed so freely, They kneeled on the ground, And praised God devoutly For the favour they had found; And beating up their colours, The fight they did renew, And turning tow'rds the Spaniard, A thousand more they slew.
The sharp steel-pointed arrows, And bullets thick did fly; Then did our valiant soldiers Charge on most furiously; Which made the Spaniards waver, They thought it best to flee, They fear'd the stout behaviour Of brave lord Willoughbèy.
Then quoth the Spanish general, Come let us march away, I fear we shall be spoiled all, If here we longer stay; For yonder comes lord Willoughbey With courage fierce and fell, He will not give one inch of way For all the devils in hell.
And then the fearful enemy Was quickly put to flight, Our men pursued courageously, And caught their forces quite; But at last they gave a shout, Which echoed through the sky, God, and St. George for England! The conquerors did cry.
This news was brought to England With all the speed might be, And soon our gracious queen was told Of this same victory. O this is brave lord Willoughbey, My love that ever won, Of all the lords of honour, 'Tis he great deeds hath done.
To the soldiers that were maimed, And wounded in the fray, The queen allowed a pension Of fifteen pence a day; And from all costs and charges She quit and set them free: And this she did all for the sake Of brave lord Willoughbèy.
Then courage, noble Englishmen, And never be dismayed: If that we be but one to ten, We will not be afraid To fight with foreign enemies, And set our nation free. And thus I end the bloody bout Of brave lord Willoughbèy.
FOOTNOTES:
[124] Peregrine Bertie, Lord Willoughbey of Eresby, died 1601.
[125] A kind of gun.
KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY.
An ancient story I'll tell you anon Of a notable prince, that was called king John; And he ruled England with main and with might, For he did great wrong, and maintain'd little right.
And I'll tell you a story, a story so merry, Concerning the Abbot of Canterbùry; How for his house-keeping, and high renown, They rode post for him to fair London town.
An hundred men, the king did hear say, The abbot kept in his house every day; And fifty gold chains, without any doubt, In velvet coats waited the abbot about.
How now, father abbot, I hear it of thee, Thou keepest a far better house than me, And for thy house-keeping and high renown, I fear thou work'st treason against my crown.
My liege, quoth the abbot, I would it were known, I never spend nothing, but what is my own; And I trust, your grace will do me no deer,[126] For spending of my own true-gotten gear.
Yes, yes, father abbot, thy fault it is high, And now for the same thou needest must die; For except thou canst answer me questions three, Thy head shall be smitten from thy body.
And first, quoth the king, when I'm in this stead,[127] With my crown of gold so fair on my head, Among all my liege-men so noble of birth, Thou must tell me to one penny what I am worth.
Secondly, tell me, without any doubt, How soon I may ride the whole world about. And at the third question thou must not shrink, But tell me here truly what I do think.
O, these are hard questions for my shallow wit, Nor I cannot answer your grace as yet: But if you will give me but three weeks' space, I'll do my endeavour to answer your grace.
Now three weeks' space to thee will I give, And that is the longest time thou hast to live; For if thou dost not answer my questions three, Thy lands and thy livings are forfeit to me.
Away rode the abbot all sad at that word, And he rode to Cambridge, and Oxenford; But never a doctor there was so wise, That could with his learning an answer devise.
Then home rode the abbot of comfort so cold, And he met his shepherd a going to fold: How now, my lord abbot, you are welcome home; What news do you bring us from good king John?
Sad news, sad news, shepherd, I must give; That I have but three days more to live: For if I do not answer him questions three, My head will be smitten from my body.
The first is to tell him there in that stead, With his crown of gold so fair on his head, Among all his liege-men so noble of birth, To within one penny of what he is worth.
The second, to tell him, without any doubt, How soon he may ride this whole world about: And at the third question I must not shrink, But tell him there truly what he does think.
Now cheer up, sire abbot, did you never hear yet, That a fool he may learn a wise man wit? Lend me horse, and serving-men, and your apparel, And I'll ride to London to answer your quarrel.
Nay frown not, if it hath been told unto me, I am like your lordship, as ever may be: And if you will but lend me your gown, There is none shall know us at fair London town.
Now horses, and serving-men thou shalt have, With sumptuous array most gallant and brave; With crozier, and mitre, and rochet, and cope, Fit to appear 'fore our father the pope.
Now welcome, sire abbot, the king he did say, 'Tis well thou'rt come back to keep thy day; For and if thou canst answer my questions three, Thy life and thy living both saved shall be.
And first, when thou seest me here in this stead, With my crown of gold so fair on my head, Among all my liege-men so noble of birth, Tell me to one penny what I am worth.
For thirty pence our Saviour was sold Among the false Jews, as I have been told; And twenty-nine is the worth of thee, For I think, thou art one penny worser than he.
The king he laughed, and swore by St. Bittel,[128] I did not think I had been worth so little! --Now secondly tell me, without any doubt, How soon I may ride this whole world about.
You must rise with the sun, and ride with the same, Until the next morning he riseth again; And then your grace need not make any doubt, But in twenty-four hours you'll ride it about.
The king he laughed, and swore by St. Jone, I did not think it could be gone so soon! --Now from the third question thou must not shrink, But tell me here truly what I do think.
Yea, that shall I do, and make your grace merry: You think I'm the abbot of Canterbùry; But I'm his poor shepherd, as plain you may see, That am come to beg pardon for him and for me.
The king he laughed, and swore by the mass, I'll make thee lord abbot this day in his place! Now nay, my liege, be not in such speed, For, alack, I can neither write nor read.
Four nobles a week then I will give thee, For this merry jest thou hast shown unto me; And tell the old abbot when thou com'st home, Thou hast brought him a pardon from good king John.
FOOTNOTES:
[126] Hurt.
[127] Place.
[128] St. Botolph.
ROBIN HOOD AND THE CURTAL FRIAR.
In the summer time, when leaves grow green, And flowers are fresh and gay, Robin Hood and his merry men Were all disposed to play.
Then some would leap, and some would run, And some would use artillery; Which of you can a good bow draw, A good archer for to be?
Which of you can kill a buck? Or who can kill a doe? Or who can kill a hart of grease,[129] Five hundred foot him fro'?
Will Scarlet he kill'd a buck, And Midge he kill'd a doe; And Little John kill'd a hart of grease, Five hundred foot him fro'.
God's blessing on thy heart, said Robin Hood, That shot such a shot for me; I would ride my horse an hundred miles To find one to match thee.
That caused Will Scarlet to laugh, He laugh'd full heartily; There lives a friar in Fountain's Abbey Will beat both him and thee.
The curtal friar in Fountain's Abbey Well can draw a good strong bow; He will beat both you and your yeomen, Set them all on a row.
Robin Hood took a solemn oath, It was by Mary free, That he would neither eat nor drink, Till the friar he did see.
Robin Hood put on his harness good, On his head a cap of steel; Broad sword and buckler by his side, And they became him well.
He took his bow into his hand, (It was of a trusty tree) With a sheaf of arrows by his side And to Fountain Dale went he.
And coming unto fair Fountain Dale, No farther would he ride: There was he 'ware of a curtal friar, Walking by the water-side.
The friar had on a harness good, On his head a cap of steel; Broad sword and buckler by his side, And they became him well.
Robin Hood lighted off his horse, And tied him to a thorn: Carry me over the water, thou curtal friar, Or else thy life's forlorn.
The friar took Robin Hood on his back, Deep water he did bestride, And spake neither good word nor bad Till he came to the other side.
Lightly leap'd Robin off the friar's back, The friar said to him again, Carry me over the water, fine fellow, Or it shall breed thee pain.
Robin Hood took the friar on his back, Deep water he did bestride, And spake neither good nor bad Till he came to the other side.
Lightly leap'd the friar off Robin Hood's back, Robin said to him again, Carry me over the water thou curtal friar, Or it shall breed thee pain.
The friar he took Robin Hood on his back again And stepp'd up to his knee; Till he came to the middle of the stream Neither good nor bad spake he;
And coming to the middle of the stream There he threw Robin in; And choose thee, choose thee, fine fellow, Whether thou wilt sink or swim.
Robin Hood swam to a bush of broom, The friar to the willow wand; Bold Robin Hood he got to the shore, And took his bow in his hand.
One of the best arrows under his belt To the friar he let fly: The curtal friar with his steel buckler Did put that arrow by.
Shoot on, shoot on, thou fine fellow, Shoot as thou hast begun; If thou shoot here a summer's day, Thy mark I will not shun.
Robin Hood shot so passing well, Till his arrows all were gone; They took their swords and steel bucklers, They fought with might and main.
From ten o'clock that very day, Till four i' the afternoon; Then Robin Hood came on his knees, Of the friar to beg a boon.
A boon, a boon, thou curtal friar, I beg it on my knee; Give me leave to set my horn to my mouth, And to blow blasts three.
That I will do, said the curtal friar, Of thy blasts I have no doubt; I hope thou wilt blow so passing well, Till both thy eyes drop out.
Robin Hood set his horn to his mouth, And he blew out blasts three, Half a hundred yeomen, with their bows bent, Came ranging over the lea.
Whose men are these, said the friar, That come so hastily? These men are mine, said Robin Hood, Friar, what's that to thee?
A boon, a boon, said the curtal friar, The like I gave to thee; Give me leave to put my fist to my mouth, And whute[130] whutes three.
That I will do, said Robin Hood, Or else I were to blame; Three whutes in a friar's fist Would make me glad and fain.
The friar he set his fist to his mouth, And he whuted him whutes three; Half an hundred good ban dogs Came running over the lea.
Here is for every man a dog, And I myself for thee: Nay, by my faith, said Robin Hood, Friar, that may not be.
Two dogs at once to Robin did go, The one behind and the other before; Robin Hood's mantle of Lincoln green Off from his back they tore.
And whether his men shot east or west, Or they shot north or south, The curtal dogs, so taught they were, They caught the arrows in their mouth.
Take up thy dogs, said Little John, Friar, at my bidding thee; Whose man art thou, said the curtal friar, That comes here to prate to me?
I am Little John, Robin Hood's man, Friar, I will not lie; If thou take not up thy dogs anon, I'll take them up and thee.
Little John had a bow in his hand, He shot with might and main; Soon half a score of the friar's dogs Lay dead upon the plain.
Hold thy hand, good fellow, said the curtal friar, Thy master and I will agree; And we will have new orders taken, With all haste that may be.
If thou wilt forsake fair Fountain Dale, And Fountain Abbey free, Every Sunday throughout the year A noble shall be thy fee.
Every Sunday throughout the year, Chang'd shall thy garments be, If thou wilt to fair Nottingham go, And there remain with me.
The curtal friar had kept Fountain Dale, Seven long years and more; There was neither knight, lord, nor earl, Could make him yield before.
FOOTNOTES:
[129] Fat hart.
[130] Whistle.
ROBIN HOOD AND ALLEN-A-DALE.
Come listen to me, you gallants so free, All you that love mirth for to hear, And I will tell you of a bold outlaw, That liv'd in Nottinghamshire.
As Robin Hood in the forest stood, All under the greenwood tree, There was he aware of a brave young man, As fine as fine might be.
The youngster was clothed in scarlet red, In scarlet fine and gay; And he did frisk it o'er the plain, And chaunted a roundelay.
As Robin Hood next morning stood Amongst the leaves so gay, There did he 'spy the same young man Come drooping along the way.
The scarlet he wore the day before, It was cast clean away; And ev'ry step he fetch'd a sigh, Alack and well a day!
Then stepped forth brave Little John, And Midge the miller's son, Which made the young man bend his bow, When he did see them come.
Stand off, stand off, the young man said, What is your will with me? You must come before our master straight, Under yonder greenwood tree.
And when he came bold Robin before, Robin asked him courteously, O hast thou any money to spare For my merry men and me?
I have no money, the young man said, But five shillings and a ring, And that I have kept these seven long years, To have it at my wedding.
Yesterday I should have married a maid, But from me she was ta'en, And chosen to be an old knight's delight, Whereby my poor heart is slain.
What is thy name then, said Robin Hood, Come, tell me without fail? By the faith of my body, then said the young man, My name is Allen-a-Dale.
What wilt thou give me, said Robin Hood, In ready gold or fee, To help thee to thy true love again, And deliver her unto thee?
I have no money, then quoth the young man, No ready gold or fee, But I will swear upon a book, Thy true servant for to be.
How many miles is it to thy true love? Come, tell me without any guile. By the faith of my body, then said the young man, It is but five little mile.
Then Robin he hasted over the plain, And he did neither stint nor lin,[131] Until he came unto the church, Where Allen should have kept his wedding!
What dost thou here, the Bishop then said, I prithee tell unto me? I am a bold harper, quoth Robin Hood, And the best in the north country.
O welcome, O welcome, the bishop then said, That music best pleaseth me; You shall have no music, quoth Robin Hood, Till the bride and bridegroom I see.
With that came in a wealthy knight, Who was both grave and old; And after him a finikin lass, That did shine like glittering gold.
This is not a fit match, quoth bold Robin Hood, That you do seem to make here; For since we are come into the church, The bride shall choose her own dear.
Then Robin Hood put his horn to his mouth, And blew blasts two or three; Then four and twenty bowmen bold Came leaping over the lea.
And when they came into the churchyard, Marching all on a row, The first man was Allen-a-Dale, To give bold Robin his bow.
This is thy true love, Robin he said, Young Allen, as I have heard say, And thou shalt be married at this same time, Before we depart away.
That shalt not be, the bishop he said, For thy word shall not stand; They shall be three times asked in the church, As the law is of our land.
Robin Hood pull'd off the bishop's coat, And put it upon Little John; By the faith of my body, then Robin he said, This cloth doth make thee a man.
When Little John went to the quire, The people began to laugh: He ask'd them seven times in the church, Lest three times should not be enough.
Who gives this maid? said Little John; Quoth Robin, that do I; And he that takes her from Allen-a-Dale, Full dearly shall her buy.
And thus having ended this merry wedding, The bride she looked like a queen! And so they returned to the merry green wood, Amongst the leaves so green.
FOOTNOTES:
[131] Stop.
VALENTINE AND URSINE.
PART THE FIRST.
When Flora 'gins to deck the fields With colours fresh and fine, Then holy clerks their matins sing To good Saint Valentine!
The king of France that morning fair He would a hunting ride: To Artois forest prancing forth In all his princely pride.
To grace his sports a courtly train Of gallant peers attend; And with their loud and cheerful cries The hills and valleys rend.
Through the deep forest swift they pass, Through woods and thickets wild; When down within a lonely dell They found a new-born child;
All in a scarlet kercher laid Of silk so fine and thin: A golden mantle wrapt him round Pinn'd with a silver pin.
The sudden sight surpris'd them all; The courtiers gather'd round; They look, they call, the mother seek; No mother could be found.
At length the king himself drew near, And as he gazing stands, The pretty babe look'd up and smil'd, And stretch'd his little hands.
Now, by the rood, king Pepin says, This child is passing fair: I wot he is of gentle blood; Perhaps some prince's heir.
Go bear him home unto my court With all the care ye may: Let him be christen'd Valentine, In honour of this day:
And look me out some cunning nurse; Well nurtur'd let him be: Nor aught be wanting that becomes A bairn of high degree.
They look'd him out a cunning nurse, And nurtur'd well was he; Nor aught was wanting that became A bairn of high degree.
Thus grew the little Valentine, Belov'd of king and peers; And show'd in all he spake or did A wit beyond his years.
But chief in gallant feats of arms He did himself advance, And ere he grew to man's estate He had no peer in France.
And now the early down began To shade his youthful chin; When Valentine was dubb'd a knight, That he might glory win.
A boon, a boon, my gracious liege, I beg a boon of thee! The first adventure that befalls May be reserv'd for me.
The first adventure shall be thine, The king did smiling say. Nor many days, when lo! there came Three palmers clad in gray.
Help, gracious lord, they weeping said; And knelt, as it was meet: From Artois forest we be come, With weak and weary feet.
Within those deep and dreary woods There wends a savage boy; Whose fierce and mortal rage doth yield Thy subjects dire annoy.
'Mong ruthless bears he sure was bred; He lurks within their den: With bears he lives, with bears he feeds, And drinks the blood of men.
To more than savage strength he joins A more than human skill: For arms, no cunning may suffice His cruel rage to still:
Up then rose sir Valentine, And claim'd that arduous deed. Go forth and conquer, said the king, And great shall be thy meed.
Well mounted on a milk-white steed, His armour white as snow; As well beseem'd a virgin knight, Who ne'er had fought a foe:
To Artois forest he repairs With all the haste he may; And soon he spies the savage youth A rending of his prey.
His unkempt hair all matted hung His shaggy shoulders round: His eager eye all fiery glow'd: His face with fury frown'd.
Like eagle's talons grew his nails: His limbs were thick and strong; And dreadful was the knotted oak He bare with him along.
Soon as sir Valentine approach'd, He starts with sudden spring; And yelling forth a hideous howl, He made the forests ring.
As when a tiger fierce and fell Hath spied a passing roe, And leaps at once upon his throat; So sprung the savage foe.
So lightly leap'd with furious force The gentle knight to seize: But met his tall uplifted spear, Which sunk him on his knees.
A second stroke so stiff and stern Had laid the savage low; But springing up, he rais'd his club, And aim'd a dreadful blow.
The watchful warrior bent his head, And shunn'd the coming stroke; Upon his taper spear it fell, And all to shivers broke.
Then lighting nimbly from his steed, He drew his burnished brand: The savage quick as lightning flew To wrest it from his hand.
Three times he grasp'd the silver hilt; Three times he felt the blade; Three times it fell with furious force; Three ghastly wounds it made.