Chapter 4

As Robin Hood in the forest stood All under the greenwood tree, There he was aware of a brave young man, As fine as fine might be.

The youngster was clad in scarlet red, In scarlet fine and gay And he did frisk it over the plain, And chaunted a roundelay.

As Robin Hood next morning stood Amongst the leaves so gay, There did he espy the same young man Come drooping along the way.

The scarlet he wore the day before It was clean cast away; And at every step he fetched a sigh, "Alas! and a well-a-day!"

Then stepped forth brave Little John, And Midge, the miller's son; Which made the young man bend his bow, When as he 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 yon 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 this seven long years, To have at my wedding.

"Yesterday I should have married a maid, But she was from me 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 any fail." "By the faith of my body," then said the young man, "My name it 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 nor 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 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, He did neither stint nor lin, Until he came unto the church Where Allen should keep his weddin'.

"What hast thou here?" the bishop then said, "I prithee now tell unto me." "I am a bold harper," quoth Robin Hood, "And the best in the north country."

"O welcome, O welcome," the bishop he 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, Which was both grave and old; And after him a finikin lass, Did shine like the glistering gold.

"This is not a fit match," quoth Robin Hood, "That you do seem to make here; For since we are come into the church, The bride shall chuse her own dear."

Then Robin Hood put his horn to his mouth, And blew blasts two and three; When four-and-twenty bowmen bold Came leaping over the lea.

And when they came into the church-yard, Marching all in 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 hear say; And you shall be married this same time, Before we depart away."

"That shall not be," the bishop he cried, "For thy word shall not stand; They shall be three times asked in the church, As the law is of our land."

Robin Hood pulled off the bishop's coat, And put it upon Little John; "By the faith of my body," then Robin said, "This cloth doth make thee a man."

When Little John went into the quire, The people began to laugh; He asked them seven times into church, Lest three times should not be enough.

"Who gives me this maid?" said Little John, Quoth Robin Hood, "That do I; And he that takes her from Allen-a-Dale, Full dearly he shall her buy."

And then having ended this merry wedding, The bride looked like a queen; And so they returned to the merry greenwood, Amongst the leaves so green.

Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne

When shaws beene sheene, and shradds full fayre, And leaves both large and longe, Itt is merrye walkyng in the fayre forrest To heare the small birdes songe.

The woodweele sang, and wold not cease, Sitting upon the spraye, Soe lowde, he wakened Robin Hood, In the greenwood where he lay.

"Now, by my faye," sayd jollye Robin, "A sweaven I had this night; I dreamt me of tow wighty yemen, That fast with me can fight.

"Methought they did mee beate and binde, And tooke my bow mee froe; Iff I be Robin alive in this lande, Ile be wroken on them towe."

"Sweavens are swift, master," quoth John, "As the wind that blowes ore the hill; For if itt be never so loude this night, To-morrow it may be still."

"Buske yee, bowne yee, my merry men all, And John shall goe with mee, For Ile goe seeke yond wight yeomen, In greenwood where the bee."

Then they cast on their gownes of grene, And tooke theyr bowes each one; And they away to the greene forrest A shooting forth are gone;

Untill they came to the merry greenwood, Where they had gladdest to bee; There were they ware of a wight yeoman, His body leaned to a tree.

A sword and a dagger he wore by his side, Of manye a man the bane; And he was clad in his capull hyde, Topp and tayll and mayne.

"Stand you still, master," quoth Little John, "Under this tree so grene, And I will go to yond wight yeoman To know what he doth meane."

"Ah! John, by me thou settest noe store, And that I farley finde: How offt send I my men beffore, And tarry my selfe behinde!

"It is no cunning a knave to ken, And a man but heare him speake; And itt were not for bursting of my bowe, John, I thy head wold breake."

As often wordes they breeden bale, So they parted Robin and John; And John is gone to Barnesdale; The gates he knoweth eche one.

But when he came to Barnesdale, Great heavinesse there hee hadd, For he found tow of his owne fell wes Were slaine both in a slade.

And Scarlette he was flying a-foote Faste over stocke and stone, For the sheriffe with seven score men Fast after him is gone.

"One shoote now I will shoote," quoth John, "With Christ his might and mayne; Ile make yond fellow that flyes soe fast, To stopp he shall be fayne."

Then John bent up his long bende-bowe, And fetteled him to shoote: The bow was made of tender boughe, And fell down to his foote.

"Woe worth, woe worth thee, wicked wood, That ere thou grew on a tree; For now this day thou art my bale, My boote when thou shold bee."

His shoote it was but loosely shott, Yet flewe not the arrowe in vaine, For itt mett one of the sherriffes men, Good William a Trent was slaine.

It had bene better of William a Trent To have bene abed with sorrowe, Than to be that day in the green-wood slade To meet with Little Johns arrowe.

But as it is said, when men be mett Fyve can doe more than three, The sheriffe hath taken Little John, And bound him fast to a tree.

"Thou shalt be drawen by dale and downe, And hanged hye on a hill." "But thou mayst fayle of thy purpose," quoth John, "If itt be Christ his will."

Lett us leave talking of Little John, And thinke of Robin Hood, How he is gone to the wight yeoman, Where under the leaves he stood.

"Good morrowe, good fellowe," sayd Robin so fayre, "Good morrowe, good fellow," quoth he. "Methinks by this bowe thou beares in thy hande, A good archere thou sholdst bee."

"I am wilfulle of my waye," quo' the yeoman, "And of my morning tyde:" "Ile lead thee through the wood," sayd Robin, "Good fellow, Ile be thy guide."

"I seeke an outlawe," the straunger sayd, "Men call him Robin Hood; Rather Ild meet with that proud outlawe Than fortye pound soe good."

"Now come with me, thou wight yeman, And Robin thou soone shalt see; But first let us some pastime find Under the greenwood tree.

"First let us some masterye make Among the woods so even; We may chance to meet with Robin Hood Here att some unsett steven."

They cutt them down two summer shroggs, That grew both under a breere, And set them threescore rood in twaine, To shoote the prickes y-fere.

"Leade on, good fellowe," quoth Robin Hood, "Leade on, I doe bidd thee." "Nay, by my faith, good fellowe," hee sayd, "My leader thou shalt bee."

The first time Robin shot at the pricke, He mist but an inch it fro; The yeoman he was an archer good, But he cold never shoote soe.

The second shoote had the wightye yeoman, He shote within the garlande; But Robin he shott far better than hee, For he clave the good pricke-wande.

"A blessing upon thy heart," he sayd, "Good fellowe, thy shooting is goode For an thy hart be as good as thy hand, Thou wert better then Robin Hoode.

Now tell me thy name, good fellowe," sayd he, "Under the leaves of lyne." "Nay, by my faith," quoth bolde Robin, "Till thou have told me thine."

"I dwell by dale and downe," quoth hee, "And Robin to take Ime sworne; And when I am called by my right name, I am Guy of good Gisbrne."

"My dwelling is in this wood," sayes Robin, "By thee I set right nought: I am Robin Hood of Barnesdale, Whom thou so long hast sought."

He that had neither beene kithe nor kin, Might have seen a full fayre sight, To see how together these yeomen went With blades both browne and bright:

To see how these yeomen together they fought Two howres of a summers day, Yett neither Robin Hood nor Sir Guy Them fettled to flye away.

Robin was reachles on a roote, And stumbled at that tyde; And Guy was quicke and nimble with-all, And hitt him ore the left side.

"Ah, deere Lady," sayd Robin Hood tho, "Thou art but mother and may'; I think it was never mans destinye To dye before his day."

Robin thought on Our Ladye deere, And soone leapt up againe, And strait he came with a 'backward' stroke, And he Sir Guy hath slayne.

He took Sir Guy's head by the hayre, And stuck itt upon his bowes end: "Thou hast beene a traytor all thy liffe, Which thing must have an end."

Robin pulled forth an Irish kniffe, And nicked Sir Guy in the face, That he was never on woman born Cold tell whose head it was.

Sayes, "Lye there, lye there now, Sir Guy, And with me be not wrothe; Iff thou have had the worst strokes at my hand, Thou shalt have the better clothe."

Robin did off his gowne of greene, And on Sir Guy did throwe, And hee put on that capull hyde, That cladd him topp to toe.

"The bowe, the arrowes, and litle horne, Now with me I will beare; For I will away to Barnesdale, To see how my men doe fare."

Robin Hood sett Guy's horne to his mouth, And a loud blast in it did blow: That beheard the sheriffe of Nottingham, As he leaned under a lowe.

"Hearken, hearken," sayd the sheriffe, "I heare nowe tydings good, For yonder I heare Sir Guy's horne blowe, And he hath slaine Robin Hoode.

"Yonder I heare Sir Guy's horne blowe, Itt blowes soe well in tyde, And yonder comes that wightye yeoman, Cladd in his capull hyde.

"Come hyther, come hyther, thou good Sir Guy, Aske what thou wilt of mee." "O I will none of thy gold," sayd Robin, "Nor I will none of thy fee.

"But now I have slaine the master," he sayes, "Let me goe strike the knave; For this is all the rewarde I aske. Nor noe other will I have."

"Thou art a madman," said the sheriffe, "Thou sholdst have had a knightes fee; But seeing thy asking hath beene soe bad, Well granted it shale be."

When Little John heard his master speake, Well knewe he it was his steven; "Now shall I be looset," quoth Little John, "With Christ his might in heaven."

Fast Robin hee hyed him to Little John, He thought to loose him belive: The sheriffe and all his companye Fast after him can drive.

"Stand abacke, stand abacke," sayd Robin; "Why draw you mee so neere? Itt was never the use in our countrye, Ones shrift another shold heere."

But Robin pulled forth an Irysh knife, And losed John hand and foote, 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 boltes and arrowes eche one: When the sheriffe saw Little John bend his bow, He fettled him to be gone.

Towards his house in Nottingham towne He fled full fast away, And soe did all the companye, Not one behind wold stay.

But he cold neither runne soe fast, Nor away soe fast cold ryde, But Little John with an arrowe soe broad He shott him into the 'backe'-syde.

Robin Hood's Death and Burial

When Robin Hood and Little John Down a down, a down, a down, Went o'er yon bank of broom, Said Robin Hood to Little John, "We have shot for many a pound: Hey down, a down, a down.

"But I am not able to shoot one shot more, My arrows will not flee; But I have a cousin lives down below, Please God, she will bleed me."

Now Robin is to fair Kirkley gone, As fast as he can win; But before he came there, as we do hear, He was taken very ill.

And when that he came to fair Kirkley-hall, He knocked all at the ring, But none was so ready as his cousin herself For to let bold Robin in.

"Will you please to sit down, cousin Robin," she said, "And drink some beer with me?" "No, I will neither eat nor drink, Till I am blooded by thee."

"Well, I have a room, cousin Robin," she said, "Which you did never see; And if you please to walk therein, You blooded by me shall be."

She took him by the lily-white hand, And led him to a private room; And there she blooded bold Robin Hood, Whilst one drop of blood would run.

She blooded him in the vein of the arm, And locked him up in the room; There did he bleed all the live-long day, Until the next day at noon.

He then bethought him of a casement door, Thinking for to begone; He was so weak he could not leap, Nor he could not get down.

He then bethought him of his bugle-horn, Which hung low down to his knee, He set his horn unto his mouth, And blew out weak blasts three.

Then Little John, when hearing him, As he sat under the tree, "I fear my master is near dead, He blows so wearily."

Then Little John to Fair Kirkley is gone, As fast as he can dree; But when he came to Kirkley-hall, He broke locks two or three;

Until he came bold Robin to, Then he fell on his knee; "A boon, a boon," cries Little John, "Master, I beg of thee."

"What is that boon," quoth Robin Hood, "Little John, thou begst of me?" "It is to burn fair Kirkley-hall, And all their nunnery."

"Now nay, now nay," quoth Robin Hood, "That boon I'll not grant thee; I never hurt woman in all my life, Nor man in woman's company.

"I never hurt fair maid in all my time, Nor at my end shall it be; But give me my bent bow in my hand, And a broad arrow I'll let flee; And where this arrow is taken up, There shall my grave digged be.

"Lay me a green sod under my head, And another under my feet; And lay my bent bow by my side, Which was my music sweet; And make my grave of gravel and green, Which is most right and meet.

"Let me have length and breadth enough, With a green sod under my head; That they may say when I am dead, Here lies bold Robin Hood."

These words they readily promised him, Which did bold Robin please; And there they buried bold Robin Hood, Near to the fair Kirkleys.

The Twa Corbies

As I was walking all alane, I heard twa corbies making a maen: The tane unto the t'ither did say, "Whaur shall we gang and dine the day?"

"O doun beside yon auld fail dyke, I wot there lies a new-slain knight; And naebody kens that he lies there But his hawk, his hound, and his lady fair.

"His hound is to the hunting gane, His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame, His lady's ta'en another mate, Sae we may mak' our dinner sweet.

"O we'll sit on his white hause bane, And I'll pyke out his bonny blue e'en; Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair We'll theek our nest when it blaws bare.

"Mony a ane for him makes maen, But nane shall ken whaur he is gane. Over his banes when they are bare, The wind shall blaw for evermair."

Waly, Waly, Love be Bonny

A SCOTTISH SONG

O waly, waly up the bank, And waly, waly down the brae, And waly, waly yon burn side, Where I and my love were wont to gae. I leant my back unto an aik, I thought it was a trusty tree; But first it bow'd, and syne it brak, Sae my true love did lichtly me.

O waly, waly, but gin love be bonny, A little time while it is new; But when its auld, it waxeth cauld, And fades awa' like morning dew. O wherfore shuld I busk my head? Or wherfore shuld I kame my hair? For my true love has me forsook, And says he'll never loe me mair.

Now Arthur-Seat sall be my bed, The sheets shall neir be prest by me: Saint Anton's well sall be my drink, Since my true love has forsaken me. Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw, And shake the green leaves aff the tree? O gentle death, when wilt thou cum? For of my life I am wearye.

'Tis not the frost that freezes fell, Nor blawing snaws inclemencye; 'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry, But my love's heart grown cauld to me. Whan we came in by Glasgow town, We were a comely sight to see; My love was clad in black velvet, And I myself in cramasye.

But had I wist, before I kist, That love had been sae ill to win, I had lockt my heart in a case of gowd, And pinnd it with a siller pin. And, oh! that my young babe were born, And set upon the nurse's knee, And I myself were dead and gane! And the green grass growing over me.

The Nut-brown Maid

Be it right, or wrong, these men among On women do complain; Affirming this, how that it is A labour spent in vain To love them wele; for never a dele They love a man again: For let a man do what he can, Their favour to attain, Yet, if a new do them pursue, Their first true lover then Laboureth for nought; for from her thought He is a banished man.

I say not nay, but that all day It is both writ and said That woman's faith is, as who saith, All utterly decayed; But, nevertheless, right good witness In this case might be laid, That they love true, and continue, Record the Nut-brown Maid: Which, when her love came, her to prove, To her to make his moan, Would not depart; for in her heart She loved but him alone.

Then between us let us discuss What was all the manere Between them two: we will also Tell all the pain, and fere, That she was in. Now I begin, So that ye me answere; Wherefore, all ye, that present be I pray you, give an ear. I am the knight; I come by night, As secret as I can; Saying,' Alas! thus standeth the case, I am a banished man.'

SHE

And I your will for to fulfil In this will not refuse; Trusting to shew, in wordes few, That men have an ill use (To their own shame) women to blame, And causeless them accuse: Therefore to you I answer now, All women to excuse,-- Mine own heart dear, with you what chere? I pray you, tell anone; For, in my mind, of all mankind I love but you alone.

HE

It standeth so; a dede is do Whereof great harm shall grow My destiny is for to die A shameful death, I trowe; 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 rede I can: For I must to the green wood go, Alone, a banished man.

SHE

O Lord, what is this worldys 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? wheder will ye go? Alas! what have ye done? 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.

HE

I can believe, it shall you grieve, And somewhat you distrain; But, afterward, your paines hard Within a day or twain Shall soon aslake; and ye shall take Comfort to you again. Why should ye ought? for, to make thought Your labour were in vain. And thus I do; and pray you to, As heartily as I can; For I must to the green wood go, Alone, a banished man.

SHE

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 wolle not leave behind; Shall never be said, the Nut-brown Maid Was to her love unkind: Make you ready, for so am I, Although it were anone; For, in my mind, of all mankind I love but you alone.

HE

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.

SHE

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; For, in my mind, of all mankind I love but you alone.

HE

I counsel you, remember how, It is no maiden's law, Nothing to doubt, but to renne out To wood with an outlaw: For ye must there in your hand bear A bow, ready to draw; And, as a thief, thus must you live, Ever in dread and awe; Whereby to you great harm might grow: Yet had I lever than, That I had to the green wood go, Alone, a banished man.

SHE

I think not nay, but as ye say, It is no maiden's lore; But love may make me for your sake, As I have said before, To come on foot, to hunt, and shoot To get us meat in store; For so that I your company May have, I ask no more: From which to part, it maketh my heart As cold as any stone; For, in my mind, of all mankind I love but you alone.

HE