17. What is price.
17. What is price.
This interesting ballad (derived from a manuscript of the 15th century,) belongs to the cycle of Robin Hood, as Mr. Wright remarks, "at least by its subject, if not by the person whose death it celebrates." It was first printed by Ritson in hisAncient Songs and Ballads, (i. 81,) and has been again printed by Mr. Wright in a little black-letter volume ofSongs and Carols(No. X); from which we take our copy.
The similarity of the name Gandelyn to the Gamelyn of theCook's Tale, attributed to Chaucer, and the affinity of that story to the Robin Hood ballads, arealluded to by the last-named editor. Is it not possible that this name reappears again in the "Young Gamwell" ofRobin Hood and the Stranger?
The dialect of this piece is proved by an incidental coincidence, says Mr. Wright, to be that of Warwickshire.
I herde a carpyng of a clerkAl at zone wodes ende,Of gode Robyn and GandeleynWas ther non otherthynge.Robynn lyth in grene wode Bowndyn.Stronge theuys wern tho chylderin non,5But bowmen gode and hende:He wentyn to wode to getyn hem fleych,If God wold it hem sende.Al day wentyn tho chylderin too,And fleych fowndyn he non,10Til it were ageyn euyn,The chylderin wold gon hom:Half a honderid of fat falyf derHe comyn azon,And all he wern fayr and fat inow,15But markyd was ther non."Be dere Gode," seyde gode [Robyn],"Hereof we xul haue on."Robynbenthis joly bowe,Therin he set a flo,20The fattest der of alle [the herd]The herte he clef a-to.He hadde not the der islaweNe halfout ofthe hyde,There cam a schrewde arwe out of the west,25That felde Roberts pryde.Gandeleyn lokyd hym est and westBe euery syde;"Hoo hat myn mayster slayin,Ho hat don this dede?30Xal I neuer out of grene wode go,Ti[l] I se [his] sydis blede."Gandeleyn lokyd hym est and lokyd west,And sowt vnder the sunne,He saw a lytil boy35He clepyn Wrennok of Doune:A good bowe in his hond,A brod arewe therine,And fowre and xx goode arwysTrusyd in a thrumme.40"Be war the, war the, Gandeleyn,Herof thu xalt han summe:"Be war the, war the, Gandeleyn,Herof thu gyst plentè.""Euere on for an other," seyde Gandeleyn,45"Mysaunter haue he xal fle.""Qwerat xal our marke be?"Seyde Gandeleyn:"Eueryche at otheris herte,"Seyde Wrennok ageyn.50"Ho xal zeue the ferste schote?"Seyde Gandeleyn:"And I xal zeue thè on beforn,"Seyd Wrennok ageyn.Wrennok schette a ful good schote,55And he schet not too hye;Throw the sanchothis of his bryk,It towchyd neyther thye."Now hast thu zouyn me on beforn,"Al thus to Wrennok seyde he,60"Andthrowthe myzt of our ladyA bettere I xal zeue the."Gandeleyn bent his goode bowe,And set therin a flo,He schet throw his grene certyl,65His herte he clef on too."Now zalt thu neuer zelpe, Wrennok,At ale ne at wyn,That thu hast slawe goode RobynAnd his knaue Gandeleyn.70"Now xalt thu neuer zelpe, Wrennok,At wyn ne at ale,That thu hast slawe goode RobynAnd Gandeleyyn hisknave."Robyn lyzth in grene wode bow[n]dyn.
I herde a carpyng of a clerkAl at zone wodes ende,Of gode Robyn and GandeleynWas ther non otherthynge.Robynn lyth in grene wode Bowndyn.
Stronge theuys wern tho chylderin non,5But bowmen gode and hende:He wentyn to wode to getyn hem fleych,If God wold it hem sende.
Al day wentyn tho chylderin too,And fleych fowndyn he non,10Til it were ageyn euyn,The chylderin wold gon hom:
Half a honderid of fat falyf derHe comyn azon,And all he wern fayr and fat inow,15But markyd was ther non."Be dere Gode," seyde gode [Robyn],"Hereof we xul haue on."
Robynbenthis joly bowe,Therin he set a flo,20The fattest der of alle [the herd]The herte he clef a-to.
He hadde not the der islaweNe halfout ofthe hyde,There cam a schrewde arwe out of the west,25That felde Roberts pryde.
Gandeleyn lokyd hym est and westBe euery syde;"Hoo hat myn mayster slayin,Ho hat don this dede?30Xal I neuer out of grene wode go,Ti[l] I se [his] sydis blede."
Gandeleyn lokyd hym est and lokyd west,And sowt vnder the sunne,He saw a lytil boy35He clepyn Wrennok of Doune:
A good bowe in his hond,A brod arewe therine,And fowre and xx goode arwysTrusyd in a thrumme.40"Be war the, war the, Gandeleyn,Herof thu xalt han summe:
"Be war the, war the, Gandeleyn,Herof thu gyst plentè.""Euere on for an other," seyde Gandeleyn,45"Mysaunter haue he xal fle."
"Qwerat xal our marke be?"Seyde Gandeleyn:"Eueryche at otheris herte,"Seyde Wrennok ageyn.50
"Ho xal zeue the ferste schote?"Seyde Gandeleyn:"And I xal zeue thè on beforn,"Seyd Wrennok ageyn.
Wrennok schette a ful good schote,55And he schet not too hye;Throw the sanchothis of his bryk,It towchyd neyther thye.
"Now hast thu zouyn me on beforn,"Al thus to Wrennok seyde he,60"Andthrowthe myzt of our ladyA bettere I xal zeue the."
Gandeleyn bent his goode bowe,And set therin a flo,He schet throw his grene certyl,65His herte he clef on too.
"Now zalt thu neuer zelpe, Wrennok,At ale ne at wyn,That thu hast slawe goode RobynAnd his knaue Gandeleyn.70
"Now xalt thu neuer zelpe, Wrennok,At wyn ne at ale,That thu hast slawe goode RobynAnd Gandeleyyn hisknave."Robyn lyzth in grene wode bow[n]dyn.
4, MS. gynge.19, MS. went.24, cut of, Ritson.61, MS. thu.74, MS. knawe.
4, MS. gynge.
19, MS. went.
24, cut of, Ritson.
61, MS. thu.
74, MS. knawe.
Three complete editions of this highly popular poem are known, all without date. The earliest, (perhaps not later than 1520,) is by Wynken de Worde, and has this title:Here beginneth a mery geste of Robyn Hode and his meyne, and of the proude sheryfe of Notyngham. A second is by William Copland, and is apparently made from the former. A third was printed from Copland's, for Edward White, and though without date is entered in the Stationers' Registers in 1594. Portions have been preserved of two other editions, earlier than any of these three. Ritson had in his hands a few leaves of an "old 4to. black-letter impression," by Wynken de Worde, "probably in 1489."The Gest of Robyn Hodewas also printed at Edinburgh, in 1508, by Chepman andMyllar, who in the same year issued a considerable number of poetical tracts. A volume of these, containing a large fragment of the piece in question, was most fortunately recovered towards the end of the last century, and has been reprinted in fac simile by the Messrs. Laing, Edinburgh, 1827.
TheLytell Gesteis obviously to be regarded as an heroic poem, constructed, partly or entirely, out of previously existing unconnected "rhymes of Robin Hood." The earlier ballads employed for this purpose have not been handed down to us in their primitive form. Whatever this may have been, they were probably very freely treated by the rhapsodist that strung them together, who has indeed retold the ancient stories with such skill as might well cause the ruder originals to be forgotten. Nevertheless, the third fit of our little epic is indisputably of common derivation with the last part of the older ballad ofRobin Hood and the Potter, and other portions of this tale occur separately in ballads, which, though modern in their structure, may have had a source independent of theLytell Geste.
It will be observed that each fit of this piece does not constitute a complete story. Mr. Hunter has correctly enough indicated the division into ballads as follows: The first ballad is comprised in the first two fits, and may be called Robin Hood and the Knight; the second ballad is the third fit, and may be called Little John and the Sheriff of Nottinghamshire; in the fourth fit we have the ballad of Robin Hood and the Monks of St. Mary; in the fifth and sixth, Robin Hood, the Sheriff of Nottingham, and the Knight; the seventh and part of the eighth containthe ballad of Robin Hood and the King; and the remaining stanzas of the eighth the Death of Robin Hood.
Concerning the imagined historical foundation of theLytell Geste, see the general remarks on Robin Hood prefixed to this volume.
Lithe and lysten, gentylmen,That be of frebore blode;I shall you tell of a good yemàn,His name was Robyn Hode.Robyn was a proude outlawe,5Whyles he walked on grounde;So curteyse an outlawe as he was oneWas never none yfounde.Robyn stode inBernysdale,And lened hym to a tre,10And by hym stode Lytell Johan,A good yeman was he;And also dyde good Scathelock,And Much the millers sone;There was no ynche of his body,15But it was worthe a grome.Than bespake hym Lytell JohanAll unto Robyn Hode,"Mayster, yf ye wolde dyne betyme,It wolde do you moch good."20Then bespake good Robyn,"To dyne I have nolest,Tyll I have some bolde baròn,Or some unketh gest,"[Or els some byshop or abbot]25That may paye for the best;Or some knyght or some squyereThat dwelleth here by west."A good maner than had Robyn,In londe where that he were,30Every daye or he woulde dyneThre messes wolde he here:The one in the worshyp of the fader,The other of the holy goost,The thyrde was of our dere lady,35That he loved of all other moste.Robyn loved our dere lady;For doute of dedely synne,Wolde he never do company harmeThat ony woman was ynne.40"Mayster," than sayd Lytell Johan,"And we our borde shall sprede,Tell us whether we shall gone,And what lyfe we shall lede;"Where we shall take, where we shall leve,45Where we shall abide behynde,Where we shall robbe, where we shall reve,Where we shall bete and bynde.""Therof no fors," said Robyn,"We shall do well ynough;50But loke ye do no housbonde harmeThat tylleth with his plough;"No more ye shall no good yemàn,That walketh by grene wode shawe,Ne no knyght, ne no squyèr,55That wolde be a good felawe."These byshoppes, and thyse archebysshoppes,Ye shall them bete and bynde;The hye sheryfe of Notynghame,Hym holde in your mynde."60"This worde shall be holde," sayd Lytyll Johan,"And this lesson shall we lere;It is ferre dayes, god sende us a gest,That we were at our dynere.""Take thy good bowe in thy hande," said Robyn,65"Let Moche wende with the,And so shall Wyllyam Scathelocke,And no man abyde with me:"And walke up tothe Sayles,And so toWatlynge-strete,70And wayte after some unketh gest,Up-chaunce ye mowe them mete."Be he erle or ony baròn,Abbot or ony knyght,Brynge hym to lodge to me,75Hys dyner shall be dyght."They wente unto the Sayles,These yemen all thre,They loked est, they loked west,They myght no man see.80But as they loked in Barnysdale,By a derne strete,Then came there a knyght rydynge,Full sone they gan hym mete.All dreri then washissemblaunte,85And lytell was hys pryde,Hys one fote in the sterope stode,That other waved besyde.Hys hode hangynge over hys eyen two,He rode in symple aray;90A soryer man than he was oneRode never in somers-day.Lytell Johan was curteyse,And set hym on his kne:"Welcome be ye, gentyll knyght,95Welcome are you to me."Welcome be thou to grene wood,Hende knyght and fre;My mayster hath abyden you fastynge,Syr, all these oures thre."100"Who is your mayster?" sayd the knyght.Johan sayde, "Robyn Hode.""He is a good yeman," sayd the knyght,"Of hym I have herde moch good."I graunte," he sayd, "with you to wende,105My brethren,all in-fere;My purpose was to have deyned to dayAt Blythe or Dankastere."Forthe than wentthisgentyll knyght,With a carefull chere;110The teres out of his eyen ran,And fell downe by hislere.They brought hym unto the lodge dore;When Robyn gan hym se,Full curteysly dyde of his hode,115And set hym on his kne."Welcome, syr knyght," then said Robyn,"Welcome thou arte to me,I haue abyde you fastynge, syr,All these houres thre."120Then answered the gentyll knyght,With wordes fayre and fre,"God the save, good Robyn,And all thy fayre meynè."They washed togyder and wyped bothe,125And set tyll theyr dynere;Brede and wyne they had ynough,And nombles of the dere.Swannes and fesauntes they had full good,And foules of the revere;130There fayled never so lytell a byrde,That ever was bred on brere."Do gladly, syr knyght," sayd Robyn;"Gramercy, syr," sayd he,"Such a dyner had I not135Of all these wekes thre."If I come agayne, Robyn,Here by this countrè,As good a dyner I shall the make,As thou hast made to me."140"Gramercy, knyght," sayd Robyn;"My dyner whan I have,I was never so gredy, by dere worthy god,My dyner for to crave."But pay or ye wende," sayd Robyn,145"Me thynketh it is good ryght;It was never the maner, by dere worthy god,A yemanto payfor a knyght.""I have nought in my cofers," sayd the knyght,"That I may profer for shame;"150"Lytell Johan, go loke," saydRobyn,"Ne let not for no blame."Tell me trouth," sayd Robyn,"So god have parte of the;""I have no more but ten shillings," sayd the knyght,155"So god have parte of me.""Yf thou have no more," sayd Robyn,"I wyll not one peny;And yf thou have nede of ony more,More shall I len the.160"Go now forth, Lytell Johan,The trouthe tell thou me;Yf there be no more but ten shillings,Not one peny that I se."Lytell Johan spred downe his mantell,165Full fayre upon the grounde,And there he found in the knyghtes coferBut even halfe a pounde.Lytyll Johan let it lye full styll,And went to his mayster full lowe:170"What tydynge, Johan?" sayd Robyn:"Syr, the knyght is trewe inough.""Fyll of the best wyne," sayd Robyn,"The knyght shall begynne;Moch wonder thynketh me175Thy clothynge is so thynne."Tell me one worde," sayd Robyn,"And counsell shall it be;I trowe thou were made a knyght of forse,Or elles of yemanry;180"Or elles thou hast ben a sory housband,And leved in stroke and stryfe;An okerer, or elles a lechoure," sayd Robyn,"With wronge hast thou lede thy lyfe.""I am none of them," sayd the knyght,185"By god that made me;An hondreth wynter here before,Myne aunsetters knyghtes have be."But ofte it hath befal, Robyn,A man hath be dysgrate;190But god that syteth in heven aboveMay amend his state."Withintwoor thre yere, Robyn," he sayd,"My neyghbores well itkende,Foure hondreth pounde of good money195Full wel than myghte I spende."Now have I no good," sayd the knyght,"But my chyldren and my wyfe;God hath shapen such an ende,Tyllgod may amendemy lyfe."200"In what maner," sayd Robyn,"Hast thou lore thy richès?""For my grete foly," he sayd,"And for my kindenesse."I had a sone, for soth, Robyn,205That sholde have ben my eyre,When he was twenty wynter olde,In felde wolde juste full feyre."He slewe a knyght ofLancastshyre,And a squyre bolde;210For to save hym in his ryght,My goodes beth sette and solde."My londes beth set to wedde, Robyn,Untyll a certayne daye,To a ryche abbot here besyde,215Of Saynt Mary abbay.""What is the somme?" sayd Robyn,"Trouthe than tell thou me;""Syr," he sayd, "foure hondred pounde,The abbot tolde it to me."220"Now, and thou lese thy londe," sayd Robyn,"What shall fall of the?""Hastely I wyll me buske," sayd the knyght,"Over the salte see,"And se where Cryst was quycke and deed225On the mounte of Caluarè:Fare well, frende, and have good daye,It maynoobetter be."Teeres fell out of his eyen two,He wolde haue gone his waye:230"Farewell, frendes, and have good day,I ne have more to pay.""Wherebethy friendes?" sayd Robyn:"Syr, never one wyllme know;Whyle I was ryche inow at home,235Grete bost then wolde they blowe."And now they renne awaye fro me,As bestes on a rowe;They take no more heed of meThen they me never sawe."240For ruthe then wepte Lytell Johan,Scathelocke and Muchin fere:"Fyll of the bestwyne," sayd Robyn,"For here is a symple chere."Hast thou ony frendes," sayd Robyn,245"Thy borowes that wyll be?""I have none," then sayd the knyght,"But god that dyed on a tree.""Do waye thy japes," sayd Robyn,"Therof will I right none;250Wenest thou I wyll have god to borowe,Peter, Poule, or Johan?"Nay, by hym that me made,And shope both sonne and mone;Fynde a better borowe," sayd Robyn,255"Or mony getest thou none.""I have none other," sayd the knyght,"The sothe for to say,But yf it be our dere lady,She fayled me never or this day."260"By dere worthy god," sayd Robyn,"To seche all England thorowe,Yet founde I never to my payA moch better borowe."Come now forthe, Lytell Johan,265And goo to my tresourè,And brynge me foure hondred pounde,And loke that it well tolde be."Forthe then wente Lytell Johan,And Scathelocke went before,270He tolde out foure houndred pounde,By eyghtene score."Is this well tolde?" said lytell Much.Johan sayd, "What greveth the?It is almes to helpe a gentyll knyght275That is fall in povertè.""Mayster," than said Lytell Johan,"His clothynge is full thynne;Ye must gyve the knyght a lyverayTolappehis body ther in.280"For ye have scarlet and grene, mayster,And many a ryche aray;There is no marchaunt in mery Englònde,So ryche, I dare well saye.""Take hym thre yerdes of every coloure,285And loke that well mete it be:"Lytell Johan toke none other mesureBut his bowe tre.And of every handfull that he metHe lept ouer fotes thre:290"What devilkyns draper," sayd litell Much,"Thynkyst thou to be?"Scathelocke stoode full styll and lough,And sayd, "By god allmyght,Johan may gyve hym the better mesure;295By god, it cost him but lyght.""Mayster," sayd Lytell Johan,All unto Robyn Hode,"Ye must gyve that knight an hors,To lede home al this good."300"Take hym a gray courser," sayd Robyn,"And a sadell newe;He is our ladyes messengere,Godlenethat he be true.""And a good palfraye," sayd lytell Moch,305"To mayntayne hym in his ryght:""And a payre of botes," sayd Scathelocke,"For he is a gentyll knyght.""What shalt thou gyve him, Lytel Johan?" sayd Robyn."Syr, a payre of gylte spores clene,310To pray for all this company:God brynge hym out of tene!""Whan shall my daye be," sayd the knyght,"Syr, and your wyll be?""This daye twelve moneth," sayd Robyn,315"Under this grene wode tre.""It were grete shame," sayd Robyn,"A knyght alone to ryde,Without squyer, yeman, or page,To walke by hys syde.320"I shall the lene Lytyll Johan my man,For he shall be thy knave;In a yemans steed he may the stonde,Yf thou grete nede have."
Lithe and lysten, gentylmen,That be of frebore blode;I shall you tell of a good yemàn,His name was Robyn Hode.
Robyn was a proude outlawe,5Whyles he walked on grounde;So curteyse an outlawe as he was oneWas never none yfounde.
Robyn stode inBernysdale,And lened hym to a tre,10And by hym stode Lytell Johan,A good yeman was he;
And also dyde good Scathelock,And Much the millers sone;There was no ynche of his body,15But it was worthe a grome.
Than bespake hym Lytell JohanAll unto Robyn Hode,"Mayster, yf ye wolde dyne betyme,It wolde do you moch good."20
Then bespake good Robyn,"To dyne I have nolest,Tyll I have some bolde baròn,Or some unketh gest,
"[Or els some byshop or abbot]25That may paye for the best;Or some knyght or some squyereThat dwelleth here by west."
A good maner than had Robyn,In londe where that he were,30Every daye or he woulde dyneThre messes wolde he here:
The one in the worshyp of the fader,The other of the holy goost,The thyrde was of our dere lady,35That he loved of all other moste.
Robyn loved our dere lady;For doute of dedely synne,Wolde he never do company harmeThat ony woman was ynne.40
"Mayster," than sayd Lytell Johan,"And we our borde shall sprede,Tell us whether we shall gone,And what lyfe we shall lede;
"Where we shall take, where we shall leve,45Where we shall abide behynde,Where we shall robbe, where we shall reve,Where we shall bete and bynde."
"Therof no fors," said Robyn,"We shall do well ynough;50But loke ye do no housbonde harmeThat tylleth with his plough;
"No more ye shall no good yemàn,That walketh by grene wode shawe,Ne no knyght, ne no squyèr,55That wolde be a good felawe.
"These byshoppes, and thyse archebysshoppes,Ye shall them bete and bynde;The hye sheryfe of Notynghame,Hym holde in your mynde."60
"This worde shall be holde," sayd Lytyll Johan,"And this lesson shall we lere;It is ferre dayes, god sende us a gest,That we were at our dynere."
"Take thy good bowe in thy hande," said Robyn,65"Let Moche wende with the,And so shall Wyllyam Scathelocke,And no man abyde with me:
"And walke up tothe Sayles,And so toWatlynge-strete,70And wayte after some unketh gest,Up-chaunce ye mowe them mete.
"Be he erle or ony baròn,Abbot or ony knyght,Brynge hym to lodge to me,75Hys dyner shall be dyght."
They wente unto the Sayles,These yemen all thre,They loked est, they loked west,They myght no man see.80
But as they loked in Barnysdale,By a derne strete,Then came there a knyght rydynge,Full sone they gan hym mete.
All dreri then washissemblaunte,85And lytell was hys pryde,Hys one fote in the sterope stode,That other waved besyde.
Hys hode hangynge over hys eyen two,He rode in symple aray;90A soryer man than he was oneRode never in somers-day.
Lytell Johan was curteyse,And set hym on his kne:"Welcome be ye, gentyll knyght,95Welcome are you to me.
"Welcome be thou to grene wood,Hende knyght and fre;My mayster hath abyden you fastynge,Syr, all these oures thre."100
"Who is your mayster?" sayd the knyght.Johan sayde, "Robyn Hode.""He is a good yeman," sayd the knyght,"Of hym I have herde moch good.
"I graunte," he sayd, "with you to wende,105My brethren,all in-fere;My purpose was to have deyned to dayAt Blythe or Dankastere."
Forthe than wentthisgentyll knyght,With a carefull chere;110The teres out of his eyen ran,And fell downe by hislere.
They brought hym unto the lodge dore;When Robyn gan hym se,Full curteysly dyde of his hode,115And set hym on his kne.
"Welcome, syr knyght," then said Robyn,"Welcome thou arte to me,I haue abyde you fastynge, syr,All these houres thre."120
Then answered the gentyll knyght,With wordes fayre and fre,"God the save, good Robyn,And all thy fayre meynè."
They washed togyder and wyped bothe,125And set tyll theyr dynere;Brede and wyne they had ynough,And nombles of the dere.
Swannes and fesauntes they had full good,And foules of the revere;130There fayled never so lytell a byrde,That ever was bred on brere.
"Do gladly, syr knyght," sayd Robyn;"Gramercy, syr," sayd he,"Such a dyner had I not135Of all these wekes thre.
"If I come agayne, Robyn,Here by this countrè,As good a dyner I shall the make,As thou hast made to me."140
"Gramercy, knyght," sayd Robyn;"My dyner whan I have,I was never so gredy, by dere worthy god,My dyner for to crave.
"But pay or ye wende," sayd Robyn,145"Me thynketh it is good ryght;It was never the maner, by dere worthy god,A yemanto payfor a knyght."
"I have nought in my cofers," sayd the knyght,"That I may profer for shame;"150"Lytell Johan, go loke," saydRobyn,"Ne let not for no blame.
"Tell me trouth," sayd Robyn,"So god have parte of the;""I have no more but ten shillings," sayd the knyght,155"So god have parte of me."
"Yf thou have no more," sayd Robyn,"I wyll not one peny;And yf thou have nede of ony more,More shall I len the.160
"Go now forth, Lytell Johan,The trouthe tell thou me;Yf there be no more but ten shillings,Not one peny that I se."
Lytell Johan spred downe his mantell,165Full fayre upon the grounde,And there he found in the knyghtes coferBut even halfe a pounde.
Lytyll Johan let it lye full styll,And went to his mayster full lowe:170"What tydynge, Johan?" sayd Robyn:"Syr, the knyght is trewe inough."
"Fyll of the best wyne," sayd Robyn,"The knyght shall begynne;Moch wonder thynketh me175Thy clothynge is so thynne.
"Tell me one worde," sayd Robyn,"And counsell shall it be;I trowe thou were made a knyght of forse,Or elles of yemanry;180
"Or elles thou hast ben a sory housband,And leved in stroke and stryfe;An okerer, or elles a lechoure," sayd Robyn,"With wronge hast thou lede thy lyfe."
"I am none of them," sayd the knyght,185"By god that made me;An hondreth wynter here before,Myne aunsetters knyghtes have be.
"But ofte it hath befal, Robyn,A man hath be dysgrate;190But god that syteth in heven aboveMay amend his state.
"Withintwoor thre yere, Robyn," he sayd,"My neyghbores well itkende,Foure hondreth pounde of good money195Full wel than myghte I spende.
"Now have I no good," sayd the knyght,"But my chyldren and my wyfe;God hath shapen such an ende,Tyllgod may amendemy lyfe."200
"In what maner," sayd Robyn,"Hast thou lore thy richès?""For my grete foly," he sayd,"And for my kindenesse.
"I had a sone, for soth, Robyn,205That sholde have ben my eyre,When he was twenty wynter olde,In felde wolde juste full feyre.
"He slewe a knyght ofLancastshyre,And a squyre bolde;210For to save hym in his ryght,My goodes beth sette and solde.
"My londes beth set to wedde, Robyn,Untyll a certayne daye,To a ryche abbot here besyde,215Of Saynt Mary abbay."
"What is the somme?" sayd Robyn,"Trouthe than tell thou me;""Syr," he sayd, "foure hondred pounde,The abbot tolde it to me."220
"Now, and thou lese thy londe," sayd Robyn,"What shall fall of the?""Hastely I wyll me buske," sayd the knyght,"Over the salte see,
"And se where Cryst was quycke and deed225On the mounte of Caluarè:Fare well, frende, and have good daye,It maynoobetter be."
Teeres fell out of his eyen two,He wolde haue gone his waye:230"Farewell, frendes, and have good day,I ne have more to pay."
"Wherebethy friendes?" sayd Robyn:"Syr, never one wyllme know;Whyle I was ryche inow at home,235Grete bost then wolde they blowe.
"And now they renne awaye fro me,As bestes on a rowe;They take no more heed of meThen they me never sawe."240
For ruthe then wepte Lytell Johan,Scathelocke and Muchin fere:"Fyll of the bestwyne," sayd Robyn,"For here is a symple chere.
"Hast thou ony frendes," sayd Robyn,245"Thy borowes that wyll be?""I have none," then sayd the knyght,"But god that dyed on a tree."
"Do waye thy japes," sayd Robyn,"Therof will I right none;250Wenest thou I wyll have god to borowe,Peter, Poule, or Johan?
"Nay, by hym that me made,And shope both sonne and mone;Fynde a better borowe," sayd Robyn,255"Or mony getest thou none."
"I have none other," sayd the knyght,"The sothe for to say,But yf it be our dere lady,She fayled me never or this day."260
"By dere worthy god," sayd Robyn,"To seche all England thorowe,Yet founde I never to my payA moch better borowe.
"Come now forthe, Lytell Johan,265And goo to my tresourè,And brynge me foure hondred pounde,And loke that it well tolde be."
Forthe then wente Lytell Johan,And Scathelocke went before,270He tolde out foure houndred pounde,By eyghtene score.
"Is this well tolde?" said lytell Much.Johan sayd, "What greveth the?It is almes to helpe a gentyll knyght275That is fall in povertè."
"Mayster," than said Lytell Johan,"His clothynge is full thynne;Ye must gyve the knyght a lyverayTolappehis body ther in.280
"For ye have scarlet and grene, mayster,And many a ryche aray;There is no marchaunt in mery Englònde,So ryche, I dare well saye."
"Take hym thre yerdes of every coloure,285And loke that well mete it be:"Lytell Johan toke none other mesureBut his bowe tre.
And of every handfull that he metHe lept ouer fotes thre:290"What devilkyns draper," sayd litell Much,"Thynkyst thou to be?"
Scathelocke stoode full styll and lough,And sayd, "By god allmyght,Johan may gyve hym the better mesure;295By god, it cost him but lyght."
"Mayster," sayd Lytell Johan,All unto Robyn Hode,"Ye must gyve that knight an hors,To lede home al this good."300
"Take hym a gray courser," sayd Robyn,"And a sadell newe;He is our ladyes messengere,Godlenethat he be true."
"And a good palfraye," sayd lytell Moch,305"To mayntayne hym in his ryght:""And a payre of botes," sayd Scathelocke,"For he is a gentyll knyght."
"What shalt thou gyve him, Lytel Johan?" sayd Robyn."Syr, a payre of gylte spores clene,310To pray for all this company:God brynge hym out of tene!"
"Whan shall my daye be," sayd the knyght,"Syr, and your wyll be?""This daye twelve moneth," sayd Robyn,315"Under this grene wode tre."
"It were grete shame," sayd Robyn,"A knyght alone to ryde,Without squyer, yeman, or page,To walke by hys syde.320
"I shall the lene Lytyll Johan my man,For he shall be thy knave;In a yemans steed he may the stonde,Yf thou grete nede have."
9Barnsdale is a tract of country, four or five miles broad, in the West Riding of Yorkshire. It was, we are told, woodland until recent inclosures, and is spoken of by Leland as a "woody and famous forest" in the reign of Henry the Eighth. From the depths of this retreat to Doncaster the distance is less than ten miles, and to Nottingham, in a straight line, about fifty. A little to the north of Barnsdale is Pontefract, and a little to the northwest is Wakefield, and beyond this the Priory of Kirklees. Mr. Hunter, whom we follow here, has shown by contemporary evidence that Barnsdale was infested by robbers in the days of the Edwards. "In the last year of the reign of King Edward the First, the bishops of St. Andrew's and Glasgow, and the Abbot of Scone were conveyed, at the King's charge, from Scotland to Winchester. In this journey they had a guard, sometimes of eight archers, sometimes of twelve; but when they had got as far south as Daventry, they had no archers at all in attendance, and proceeded without a guard, in three days from thence to Winchester. But when they passed from Pontefract to Tickhill, the guard had been increased to the number of twenty archers, and the reason given in the account of the expenses of their journey, for this addition to the cost of the conveyance, is given in the two words,propter Barnsdale."22. lust, Ritson.69,70. "The Sayles," is a place no longer known, but it is certain that there was formerly a place of the name in Barnsdale or near it. "It was a very small tenancy of the manor of Pontefract, being not more than the tenth of a knight's fee" (Hunter). Watling Street stands here for the great North Road, probably a Roman highway, which crosses Barnsdale.85. all his. PCC.106, so R. (ed. 1489): all three, W. C. (de Worde & Copland).109, this, R. that, W. C.112, ere, R.148, to pay, R. pay, W. C.151, Robyn, R. Robyn Hoode, W. C.179. "This stanza is remarkable for containing a reference to one of the old grievances of the people of England. In the reign of Henry the Third, and his son, and grandson, the compelling persons, some of them of no great estate, to take upon them the honour of knighthood, or pay a large sum to be excused, was felt as a heavy oppression."—Hunter.193, two yere, R.194, knowe, OCC.200, it may amende, OCC.209, lancasesshyre, R.228, not W. C.233, by W. C.234. So R. knowe me, W. C. The fragment of de Worde's older ed. ends with v. 239.242, also, PCC. for 'in fere.'243. Wyme, PCC.272. I.e. by so many score to the hundred. It is certainly a very hyperbolical expression, but he measures the cloth in the same way.—Ritson.280, helpe, W. wrappe, C.304. leue, W. lende, C
9Barnsdale is a tract of country, four or five miles broad, in the West Riding of Yorkshire. It was, we are told, woodland until recent inclosures, and is spoken of by Leland as a "woody and famous forest" in the reign of Henry the Eighth. From the depths of this retreat to Doncaster the distance is less than ten miles, and to Nottingham, in a straight line, about fifty. A little to the north of Barnsdale is Pontefract, and a little to the northwest is Wakefield, and beyond this the Priory of Kirklees. Mr. Hunter, whom we follow here, has shown by contemporary evidence that Barnsdale was infested by robbers in the days of the Edwards. "In the last year of the reign of King Edward the First, the bishops of St. Andrew's and Glasgow, and the Abbot of Scone were conveyed, at the King's charge, from Scotland to Winchester. In this journey they had a guard, sometimes of eight archers, sometimes of twelve; but when they had got as far south as Daventry, they had no archers at all in attendance, and proceeded without a guard, in three days from thence to Winchester. But when they passed from Pontefract to Tickhill, the guard had been increased to the number of twenty archers, and the reason given in the account of the expenses of their journey, for this addition to the cost of the conveyance, is given in the two words,propter Barnsdale."
22. lust, Ritson.
69,70. "The Sayles," is a place no longer known, but it is certain that there was formerly a place of the name in Barnsdale or near it. "It was a very small tenancy of the manor of Pontefract, being not more than the tenth of a knight's fee" (Hunter). Watling Street stands here for the great North Road, probably a Roman highway, which crosses Barnsdale.
85. all his. PCC.
106, so R. (ed. 1489): all three, W. C. (de Worde & Copland).
109, this, R. that, W. C.
112, ere, R.
148, to pay, R. pay, W. C.
151, Robyn, R. Robyn Hoode, W. C.
179. "This stanza is remarkable for containing a reference to one of the old grievances of the people of England. In the reign of Henry the Third, and his son, and grandson, the compelling persons, some of them of no great estate, to take upon them the honour of knighthood, or pay a large sum to be excused, was felt as a heavy oppression."—Hunter.
193, two yere, R.
194, knowe, OCC.
200, it may amende, OCC.
209, lancasesshyre, R.
228, not W. C.
233, by W. C.
234. So R. knowe me, W. C. The fragment of de Worde's older ed. ends with v. 239.
242, also, PCC. for 'in fere.'
243. Wyme, PCC.
272. I.e. by so many score to the hundred. It is certainly a very hyperbolical expression, but he measures the cloth in the same way.—Ritson.
280, helpe, W. wrappe, C.
304. leue, W. lende, C
Nowe is the knyght went onhis way,This gamehymthought full good;When he loked on Bernysdale,He blyssed Robyn Hode;And whan he thought on Bernysdale,5On Scathelock, Much, and Johan,He blyssed them for the best companyThat ever he in come.Then spake that gentyll knyght,To Lytel Johan gan he saye,10"To-morrowe I must to Yorke toune,To Saynt Mary abbay;"And to the abbot of that placeFoure hondred pounde I must pay;And but I be there upon this nyght15My londe is lost for ay."The abbot sayd to his covent,There he stode on grounde,"This day twelfe moneth came there a knyghtAnd borowed foure hondred pounde.20"[He borowed foure hondred pounde,]Upon all his londe fre,But he come this ylke dayDysheryte shall he be.""It is full erely," saydthe pryoure,25"The day is not yet ferre gone;I had lever to pay an hondred pounde,And lay it downe anone."The knight is ferre beyonde the see,In Englonde is his ryght,30And suffreth honger and colde,And many a sory nyght."It were grete pytè," said the pryoure,"So to have his londe;And ye be so lyght of your conseyence,35Ye do to him moch wronge.""Thou art euer in my berde," sayd the abbot,"By god and saynt Rycharde;"With that cam in a fat-heded monke,The heygh selerer.40"He is dede or hanged," sayd the monke,"By god that bought me dere,And we shall have to spende in this placeFoure hondred pounde by yere."The abbot and the hy selerer,45Sterte forthe full bolde,The high justyce of EnglondeThe abbot there dyde holde.The hye justyce and many moHad take into their honde50Holy all the knyghtes det,To put that knyght to wronge.They demed the knyght wonder sore,The abbot and hys meynè:"But he come this ylke day55Dysheryte shall he be.""He wyll not come yet," sayd the justyce,"I dare well undertake;"But in sorowe tyme for them allThe knyght came to the gate.60Than bespake that gentyll knyghtUntyll hys meynè,"Now put on your symple wedesThat ye brought fro the see."[They put on their symple wedes,]65And came to the gates anone;The porter was redy hymselfe,And welcomed them everychone."Welcome, syr knyght," sayd the portèr,"My lorde to mete is he,70And so is many a gentyll man,For the love of the."The porter swore a full grete othe,"By god that made me,Here be the best coresed hors,75That ever yet sawe I me."Lede them into the stable," he sayd,"That eased might they be:""They shall not come therin," sayd the knyght,"By god that dyed on a tre."80Lordes were to mete isetteIn that abbotes hall;The knyght went forth and kneled downe,And salued them grete and small."Do gladly, syr abbot," sayd the knyght,85"I am come to holde my day:"The fyrst word the abbot spake,"Hast thou brought my pay?""Not one peny," sayd the knyght,"By god that maked me;"90"Thou art a shrewed dettour," sayd the abbot;"Syr justyce, drynke to me."What doost thou here," sayd the abbot,"But thou haddest brought thy pay?""For god," than sayd the knyght,95"To pray of a lenger daye.""Thy daye is broke," sayd the justyce,"Londe getest thou none:""Now, good syr justyce, be my frende,And fende me of my fone."100"I am holde with the abbot," sayd the justyce,"Bothe with cloth and fee:""Now, good syr sheryf, be my frende:""Nay for god," sayd he."Now, good syr abbot, be my frende,105For thy curteysè,And holde my londes in thy hondeTyll I have made the gree;"And I wyll be thy true servaunte,And trewely serve the,110Tyl ye have foure hondred poundeOf money good and free."The abbot sware a full grete othe,"By god that dyed on a tree,Get the londe where thou may,115For thou getest none of me.""By dere worthy god," then sayd the knyght,"That all this worlde wrought,But I have my londe agayneFull dere it shall be bought.120"God, that was of a mayden borne,Lene uswell to spede!For it is good to assay a frendeOr that a man have nede."The abbot lothely on him gan loke,125And vylaynesly hym gancall;"Out," he sayd, "thou false knyght,Spede the out of my hall!""Thou lyest," then sayd the gentyll knyght,"Abbot in thy hal;130False knyght was I never,By god that made us all."Up then stode that gentyll knyght,To the abbot sayd he,"To suffre a knyght to knele so longe135Thou canst no curteysye."In joustes and in tournementFull ferre than have I be,And put myselfe as ferre in preesAs ony that ever I se."140"What wyll ye gyve more," said the justyce,"And the knyght shall make a releyse?And elles dare I safly swereYe holde never your londe in pees.""An hondred pounde," sayd the abbot;145The justyce said, "Gyve him two;""Nay, be god," said the knyght,"Yetgeteye it not soo."Though ye wolde gyve a thousande more,Yet wereyenever the nere;150Shall there never be myn eyre,Abbot, justyse, ne frere."He sterte hym to a borde anone,Tyll a table rounde,And there he shoke out of a bagge155Even foure hondred pounde."Have here thy golde, syr abbot," sayd the knyght,"Which that thou lentest me;Haddest thou ben curteys at my comynge,Rewarde sholdest thou have be."160The abbot sat styll, and ete no more,For all his ryall chere;He caste his hede on his sholdèr,And fast began to stare."Take me my golde agayne," sayd the abbot,165"Syr justyce, that I toke the;""Not a peny," sayd the justyce,"By god, that dyed on a tree.""Syr abbot, and ye men of lawe,Now have I holde my daye,170Now shall I have my londe agayne,For ought that you can saye."The knyght stert out of the dore,Awaye was all his care,And on he put his good clothynge,175The other he lefte there.He wente hym forthe full mery syngynge,As men have tolde in tale,His lady met hym at the gate,At home inUterysdale.180"Welcome, my lorde," sayd his lady;"Syr, lost is all your good?""Be mery, dame," sayd the knyght,"And praye for Robyn Hode,"That ever his soule be in blysse;185He holpe me out of my tene;Ne had not be his kyndenesse,Beggers had we ben."The abbot and I acordyd ben,He is served of his pay,190The good yeman lent it me,As I came by the way."This knyght than dwelled fayre at home,The soth for to say,Tyll he had got foure hondreth pounde,195All redy for too paye.He purveyed hym an hondred bowes,The strenges welle [y-]dyght,An hondred shefe of arowes good,The hedes burnyshed full bryght.200And every arowe an elle longe,With pecocke well ydyght,Inocked all with whyte sylvèr,It was a semly syght.He purveyed hym an hondreth men,205Well harneysed in that stede,And hymselfe in that samesete,And clothed in whyte and rede.He bare a launsgay in his honde,And a man ledde his male,210And reden with a lyght songeUnto Bernysdale.As he went at brydge ther was a wrastelyng,And there taryed was he,And there was all the best yemèn,215Of all the west countree.A full fayre game there was upset;A whyte bullup ipyght,A grete courser with sadle and brydil,With golde burneyshed full bryght;220A payre of gloves, a rede golde rynge,A pype of wyne, in good fay;What man bereth him best, i-wys,The pryce shall bere away.There was a yeman in that place,225And best worthy was he,And for he was ferre and frend bestad,Islayne he sholde have be.The knyght had reuth of this yemàn,In place where that he stode,230He said that yoman sholde have no harme,For love of Robyn Hode.The knyght presed into the place,An hondred folowed hymfre,With bowes bent, and arowes sharpe,235For to shende that company.They sholdred all, and made hym rome,To wete what he wolde say;He toke the yeman by the honde,And gave hym all the playe.240He gave hym fyve marke for his wyne,There it laye on the molde,And bad it sholde be sette a broche,Drynke who so wolde.Thus longe taryed this gentyll knyght,245Tyll that playe was done,So longe abode Robyn fastynge,Thre houres after the none.
Nowe is the knyght went onhis way,This gamehymthought full good;When he loked on Bernysdale,He blyssed Robyn Hode;
And whan he thought on Bernysdale,5On Scathelock, Much, and Johan,He blyssed them for the best companyThat ever he in come.
Then spake that gentyll knyght,To Lytel Johan gan he saye,10"To-morrowe I must to Yorke toune,To Saynt Mary abbay;
"And to the abbot of that placeFoure hondred pounde I must pay;And but I be there upon this nyght15My londe is lost for ay."
The abbot sayd to his covent,There he stode on grounde,"This day twelfe moneth came there a knyghtAnd borowed foure hondred pounde.20
"[He borowed foure hondred pounde,]Upon all his londe fre,But he come this ylke dayDysheryte shall he be."
"It is full erely," saydthe pryoure,25"The day is not yet ferre gone;I had lever to pay an hondred pounde,And lay it downe anone.
"The knight is ferre beyonde the see,In Englonde is his ryght,30And suffreth honger and colde,And many a sory nyght.
"It were grete pytè," said the pryoure,"So to have his londe;And ye be so lyght of your conseyence,35Ye do to him moch wronge."
"Thou art euer in my berde," sayd the abbot,"By god and saynt Rycharde;"With that cam in a fat-heded monke,The heygh selerer.40
"He is dede or hanged," sayd the monke,"By god that bought me dere,And we shall have to spende in this placeFoure hondred pounde by yere."
The abbot and the hy selerer,45Sterte forthe full bolde,The high justyce of EnglondeThe abbot there dyde holde.
The hye justyce and many moHad take into their honde50Holy all the knyghtes det,To put that knyght to wronge.
They demed the knyght wonder sore,The abbot and hys meynè:"But he come this ylke day55Dysheryte shall he be."
"He wyll not come yet," sayd the justyce,"I dare well undertake;"But in sorowe tyme for them allThe knyght came to the gate.60
Than bespake that gentyll knyghtUntyll hys meynè,"Now put on your symple wedesThat ye brought fro the see."
[They put on their symple wedes,]65And came to the gates anone;The porter was redy hymselfe,And welcomed them everychone.
"Welcome, syr knyght," sayd the portèr,"My lorde to mete is he,70And so is many a gentyll man,For the love of the."
The porter swore a full grete othe,"By god that made me,Here be the best coresed hors,75That ever yet sawe I me.
"Lede them into the stable," he sayd,"That eased might they be:""They shall not come therin," sayd the knyght,"By god that dyed on a tre."80
Lordes were to mete isetteIn that abbotes hall;The knyght went forth and kneled downe,And salued them grete and small.
"Do gladly, syr abbot," sayd the knyght,85"I am come to holde my day:"The fyrst word the abbot spake,"Hast thou brought my pay?"
"Not one peny," sayd the knyght,"By god that maked me;"90"Thou art a shrewed dettour," sayd the abbot;"Syr justyce, drynke to me.
"What doost thou here," sayd the abbot,"But thou haddest brought thy pay?""For god," than sayd the knyght,95"To pray of a lenger daye."
"Thy daye is broke," sayd the justyce,"Londe getest thou none:""Now, good syr justyce, be my frende,And fende me of my fone."100
"I am holde with the abbot," sayd the justyce,"Bothe with cloth and fee:""Now, good syr sheryf, be my frende:""Nay for god," sayd he.
"Now, good syr abbot, be my frende,105For thy curteysè,And holde my londes in thy hondeTyll I have made the gree;
"And I wyll be thy true servaunte,And trewely serve the,110Tyl ye have foure hondred poundeOf money good and free."
The abbot sware a full grete othe,"By god that dyed on a tree,Get the londe where thou may,115For thou getest none of me."
"By dere worthy god," then sayd the knyght,"That all this worlde wrought,But I have my londe agayneFull dere it shall be bought.120
"God, that was of a mayden borne,Lene uswell to spede!For it is good to assay a frendeOr that a man have nede."
The abbot lothely on him gan loke,125And vylaynesly hym gancall;"Out," he sayd, "thou false knyght,Spede the out of my hall!"
"Thou lyest," then sayd the gentyll knyght,"Abbot in thy hal;130False knyght was I never,By god that made us all."
Up then stode that gentyll knyght,To the abbot sayd he,"To suffre a knyght to knele so longe135Thou canst no curteysye.
"In joustes and in tournementFull ferre than have I be,And put myselfe as ferre in preesAs ony that ever I se."140
"What wyll ye gyve more," said the justyce,"And the knyght shall make a releyse?And elles dare I safly swereYe holde never your londe in pees."
"An hondred pounde," sayd the abbot;145The justyce said, "Gyve him two;""Nay, be god," said the knyght,"Yetgeteye it not soo.
"Though ye wolde gyve a thousande more,Yet wereyenever the nere;150Shall there never be myn eyre,Abbot, justyse, ne frere."
He sterte hym to a borde anone,Tyll a table rounde,And there he shoke out of a bagge155Even foure hondred pounde.
"Have here thy golde, syr abbot," sayd the knyght,"Which that thou lentest me;Haddest thou ben curteys at my comynge,Rewarde sholdest thou have be."160
The abbot sat styll, and ete no more,For all his ryall chere;He caste his hede on his sholdèr,And fast began to stare.
"Take me my golde agayne," sayd the abbot,165"Syr justyce, that I toke the;""Not a peny," sayd the justyce,"By god, that dyed on a tree."
"Syr abbot, and ye men of lawe,Now have I holde my daye,170Now shall I have my londe agayne,For ought that you can saye."
The knyght stert out of the dore,Awaye was all his care,And on he put his good clothynge,175The other he lefte there.
He wente hym forthe full mery syngynge,As men have tolde in tale,His lady met hym at the gate,At home inUterysdale.180
"Welcome, my lorde," sayd his lady;"Syr, lost is all your good?""Be mery, dame," sayd the knyght,"And praye for Robyn Hode,
"That ever his soule be in blysse;185He holpe me out of my tene;Ne had not be his kyndenesse,Beggers had we ben.
"The abbot and I acordyd ben,He is served of his pay,190The good yeman lent it me,As I came by the way."
This knyght than dwelled fayre at home,The soth for to say,Tyll he had got foure hondreth pounde,195All redy for too paye.
He purveyed hym an hondred bowes,The strenges welle [y-]dyght,An hondred shefe of arowes good,The hedes burnyshed full bryght.200
And every arowe an elle longe,With pecocke well ydyght,Inocked all with whyte sylvèr,It was a semly syght.
He purveyed hym an hondreth men,205Well harneysed in that stede,And hymselfe in that samesete,And clothed in whyte and rede.
He bare a launsgay in his honde,And a man ledde his male,210And reden with a lyght songeUnto Bernysdale.
As he went at brydge ther was a wrastelyng,And there taryed was he,And there was all the best yemèn,215Of all the west countree.
A full fayre game there was upset;A whyte bullup ipyght,A grete courser with sadle and brydil,With golde burneyshed full bryght;220
A payre of gloves, a rede golde rynge,A pype of wyne, in good fay;What man bereth him best, i-wys,The pryce shall bere away.
There was a yeman in that place,225And best worthy was he,And for he was ferre and frend bestad,Islayne he sholde have be.
The knyght had reuth of this yemàn,In place where that he stode,230He said that yoman sholde have no harme,For love of Robyn Hode.
The knyght presed into the place,An hondred folowed hymfre,With bowes bent, and arowes sharpe,235For to shende that company.
They sholdred all, and made hym rome,To wete what he wolde say;He toke the yeman by the honde,And gave hym all the playe.240
He gave hym fyve marke for his wyne,There it laye on the molde,And bad it sholde be sette a broche,Drynke who so wolde.
Thus longe taryed this gentyll knyght,245Tyll that playe was done,So longe abode Robyn fastynge,Thre houres after the none.