Brave Lord Willoughbey.[124]

TThe merchant set my lord a glassSo well apparent in his sight,And on the morrow, by nine of the clock,He showed him Sir Andrew Barton, knight.His hatchboard it was gilt with gold,So dearly dight it dazzled the ee:Now by my faith, lord Howard says,This is a gallant sight to see.Take in your ancients,[118]standards eke,So close that no man may them see;And put me forth a white willow wand,As merchants use to sail the sea.But they stirred neither top, nor mast;[119]Stoutly they passed Sir Andrew by.What English churls are yonder, he said,That can so little courtesy?Now by the rood, three years and more,I have been admiral over the sea;And never an English nor Portingall[120]Without my leave can pass this way.Then called he forth his stout pinnàce;Fetch back yon pedlars now to me:I swear by the mass, yon English churlsShall all hang at my main-mast tree.With that the pinnace it shot off,Full well lord Howard might it ken;For it stroke down my lord's fore mast,And killed fourteen of his men.Come hither, Simon, says my lord,Look that thy word be true, thou said;For at my main-mast thou shalt hang,If thou miss thy mark one shilling bread.Simon was old, but his heart it was bold,His ordinance he laid right low;He put in chain full nine yards long,With other great shot less, and moe;And he let go his great gun's shot:So well he settled it with his ee,The first sight that Sir Andrew saw,He saw his pinnace sunk in the sea.And when he saw his pinnace sunk,Lord, how his heart with rage did swell!Now cut my ropes, it is time to be gone;I'll fetch yon pedlars back mysel'.When my lord saw Sir Andrew loose,Within his heart he was full fain:Now spread your ancients, strike up drums,Sound all your trumpets out amain.Fight on, my men, Sir Andrew says,Well howsoever this gear will sway;[121]It is my lord admiral of Englànd,Is come to seek me on the sea.Simon had a son, who shot right well,That did Sir Andrew mickle scare;In at his deck he gave a shot,Killed threescore of his men of war.Then Henry Hunt with rigour hotCame bravely on the other side,Soon he drove down his fore-mast tree,And killed fourscore men beside.Now, out alas! Sir Andrew cried,What may a man now think, or say?Yonder merchant thief, that pierceth me,He was my prisoner yesterday.Come hither to me, thou Gordon good,That aye wast ready at my call;I will give thee three hundred marks,If thou wilt let my beams down fall.Lord Howard he then call'd in haste,Horseley see thou be true instead;For thou shalt at the main-mast hang,If thou miss, twelvescore, one penny bread.Then Gordon swarved[122]the main-mast tree,He swarved it with might and main;But Horseley with a bearing arrow,Stroke the Gordon through the brain;And he fell into the hatches again,And sore his deadly wound did bleed:Then word went through Sir Andrew's men,How that the Gordon he was dead.Come hither to me, James Hambilton,Thou art my only sister's son,If thou wilt let my beams down fall,Six hundred nobles thou hast won.With that he swarved the main-mast tree,He swarved it with nimble art;But Horseley with a broad arròwPierced the Hambilton through the heart:And down he fell upon the deck,That with his blood did stream amain:Then every Scot cried, Well-away!Alas, a comely youth is slain!All woe begone was Sir Andrew then,With grief and rage his heart did swell:Go fetch me forth my armour of proof,For I will to the topcastle mysel'.Go fetch me forth my armour of proof;That gilded is with gold so clear:God be with my brother John of Barton!Against the Portingalls he it ware:And when he had on this armour of proof,He was a gallant sight to see:Ah! ne'er didst thou meet with living wight,My dear brothèr, could cope with thee.Come hither Horseley, says my lord,And look your shaft that it go right,Shoot a good shot in time of need,And for it thou shalt be made a knight.I'll shoot my best, quoth Horseley then,Your honour shall see, with might and main;But if I was hanged at your main-mast,I have now left but arrows twain.Sir Andrew he did swarve the tree,With right good will he swarved then:Upon his breast did Horseley hit,But the arrow bounded back again.Then Horseley spied a privy placeWith a perfect eye in a secret part;Under the spole[123]of his right armHe smote Sir Andrew to the heart.Fight on, my men, Sir Andrew says,A little I'm hurt, but yet not slain;I'll but lie down and bleed awhile,And then I'll rise and fight again.Fight on, my men, Sir Andrew says,And never flinch before the foe;And stand fast by St. Andrew's crossUntil you hear my whistle blow.They never heard his whistle blow,——Which made their hearts wax sore adread:Then Horseley said, Aboard, my lord,For well I wot, Sir Andrew's dead.They boarded then his noble ship,They boarded it with might and main;Eighteen score Scots alive they found,The rest were either maimed or slain.Lord Howard took a sword in hand,And off he smote Sir Andrew's head,I must have left England many a day,If thou wert alive as thou art dead.He caused his body to be castOver the hatchboard into the sea,And about his middle three hundred crowns:Wherever thou land this will bury thee.

Take in your ancients,[118]standards eke,So close that no man may them see;And put me forth a white willow wand,As merchants use to sail the sea.But they stirred neither top, nor mast;[119]Stoutly they passed Sir Andrew by.What English churls are yonder, he said,That can so little courtesy?

Now by the rood, three years and more,I have been admiral over the sea;And never an English nor Portingall[120]Without my leave can pass this way.Then called he forth his stout pinnàce;Fetch back yon pedlars now to me:I swear by the mass, yon English churlsShall all hang at my main-mast tree.

With that the pinnace it shot off,Full well lord Howard might it ken;For it stroke down my lord's fore mast,And killed fourteen of his men.Come hither, Simon, says my lord,Look that thy word be true, thou said;For at my main-mast thou shalt hang,If thou miss thy mark one shilling bread.

Simon was old, but his heart it was bold,His ordinance he laid right low;He put in chain full nine yards long,With other great shot less, and moe;And he let go his great gun's shot:So well he settled it with his ee,The first sight that Sir Andrew saw,He saw his pinnace sunk in the sea.

And when he saw his pinnace sunk,Lord, how his heart with rage did swell!Now cut my ropes, it is time to be gone;I'll fetch yon pedlars back mysel'.When my lord saw Sir Andrew loose,Within his heart he was full fain:Now spread your ancients, strike up drums,Sound all your trumpets out amain.

Fight on, my men, Sir Andrew says,Well howsoever this gear will sway;[121]It is my lord admiral of Englànd,Is come to seek me on the sea.Simon had a son, who shot right well,That did Sir Andrew mickle scare;In at his deck he gave a shot,Killed threescore of his men of war.

Then Henry Hunt with rigour hotCame bravely on the other side,Soon he drove down his fore-mast tree,And killed fourscore men beside.Now, out alas! Sir Andrew cried,What may a man now think, or say?Yonder merchant thief, that pierceth me,He was my prisoner yesterday.

Come hither to me, thou Gordon good,That aye wast ready at my call;I will give thee three hundred marks,If thou wilt let my beams down fall.Lord Howard he then call'd in haste,Horseley see thou be true instead;For thou shalt at the main-mast hang,If thou miss, twelvescore, one penny bread.

Then Gordon swarved[122]the main-mast tree,He swarved it with might and main;But Horseley with a bearing arrow,Stroke the Gordon through the brain;And he fell into the hatches again,And sore his deadly wound did bleed:Then word went through Sir Andrew's men,How that the Gordon he was dead.

Come hither to me, James Hambilton,Thou art my only sister's son,If thou wilt let my beams down fall,Six hundred nobles thou hast won.With that he swarved the main-mast tree,He swarved it with nimble art;But Horseley with a broad arròwPierced the Hambilton through the heart:

And down he fell upon the deck,That with his blood did stream amain:Then every Scot cried, Well-away!Alas, a comely youth is slain!All woe begone was Sir Andrew then,With grief and rage his heart did swell:Go fetch me forth my armour of proof,For I will to the topcastle mysel'.

Go fetch me forth my armour of proof;That gilded is with gold so clear:God be with my brother John of Barton!Against the Portingalls he it ware:And when he had on this armour of proof,He was a gallant sight to see:Ah! ne'er didst thou meet with living wight,My dear brothèr, could cope with thee.

Come hither Horseley, says my lord,And look your shaft that it go right,Shoot a good shot in time of need,And for it thou shalt be made a knight.I'll shoot my best, quoth Horseley then,Your honour shall see, with might and main;But if I was hanged at your main-mast,I have now left but arrows twain.

Sir Andrew he did swarve the tree,With right good will he swarved then:Upon his breast did Horseley hit,But the arrow bounded back again.Then Horseley spied a privy placeWith a perfect eye in a secret part;Under the spole[123]of his right armHe smote Sir Andrew to the heart.

Fight on, my men, Sir Andrew says,A little I'm hurt, but yet not slain;I'll but lie down and bleed awhile,And then I'll rise and fight again.Fight on, my men, Sir Andrew says,And never flinch before the foe;And stand fast by St. Andrew's crossUntil you hear my whistle blow.

They never heard his whistle blow,——Which made their hearts wax sore adread:Then Horseley said, Aboard, my lord,For well I wot, Sir Andrew's dead.They boarded then his noble ship,They boarded it with might and main;Eighteen score Scots alive they found,The rest were either maimed or slain.

Lord Howard took a sword in hand,And off he smote Sir Andrew's head,I must have left England many a day,If thou wert alive as thou art dead.He caused his body to be castOver the hatchboard into the sea,And about his middle three hundred crowns:Wherever thou land this will bury thee.

SIR ANDREW BARTON.SIR ANDREW BARTON.

Thus from the wars lord Howard came,And back he sailèd o'er the main,With mickle joy and triumphìngInto Thames mouth he came again.Lord Howard then a letter wrote,And sealèd it with seal and ring;Such a noble prize have I brought to your grace,As never did subject to a king:Sir Andrew's ship I bring with me;A braver ship was never none:Now hath your grace two ships of war,Before in England was but one.King Henry's grace with royal cheerWelcomed the noble Howard home,And where, said he, is this rover stout,That I myself may give the doom?The rover, he is safe, my liege,Full many a fathom in the sea;If he were alive as he is dead,I must have left England many a day:And your grace may thank four men i' the shipFor the victory which we have won,These are William Horseley, Henry Hunt,And Peter Simon, and his son.To Henry Hunt, the king then said,In lieu of what was from thee ta'en,A noble a-day now thou shalt have,Sir Andrew's jewels and his chain.And Horseley thou shalt be a knight,And lands and livings shalt have store;Howard shall be earl of Surrey hight,As Howards erst have been before.Now, Peter Simon, thou art old,I will maintain thee and thy son:And the men shall have five hundred marksFor the good service they have done.Then in came the queen with ladies fairTo see Sir Andrew Barton knight:They ween'd that he were brought on shore,And thought to have seen a gallant sight.But when they saw his deadly face,And eyes so hollow in his head,I would give, quoth the king, a thousand marks,This man were alive as he is dead:Yet for the manful part he played,Which fought so well with heart and hand,His men shall have twelvepence a day,Till they come to my brother king's high land.

Sir Andrew's ship I bring with me;A braver ship was never none:Now hath your grace two ships of war,Before in England was but one.King Henry's grace with royal cheerWelcomed the noble Howard home,And where, said he, is this rover stout,That I myself may give the doom?

The rover, he is safe, my liege,Full many a fathom in the sea;If he were alive as he is dead,I must have left England many a day:And your grace may thank four men i' the shipFor the victory which we have won,These are William Horseley, Henry Hunt,And Peter Simon, and his son.

To Henry Hunt, the king then said,In lieu of what was from thee ta'en,A noble a-day now thou shalt have,Sir Andrew's jewels and his chain.And Horseley thou shalt be a knight,And lands and livings shalt have store;Howard shall be earl of Surrey hight,As Howards erst have been before.

Now, Peter Simon, thou art old,I will maintain thee and thy son:And the men shall have five hundred marksFor the good service they have done.Then in came the queen with ladies fairTo see Sir Andrew Barton knight:They ween'd that he were brought on shore,And thought to have seen a gallant sight.

But when they saw his deadly face,And eyes so hollow in his head,I would give, quoth the king, a thousand marks,This man were alive as he is dead:Yet for the manful part he played,Which fought so well with heart and hand,His men shall have twelvepence a day,Till they come to my brother king's high land.

FOOTNOTES:[113]Travel.[114]Breadth.[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.

[113]Travel.

[114]Breadth.

[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]

TThe fifteenth day of July,With glistering spear and shield,A famous fight in FlandersWas foughten on the field:The most courageous officersWere English captains three;But the bravest man in battleWas 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 enemyThey fiercely did assail,And fought it out most furiously,Not doubting to prevail:The wounded men on both sides fellMost piteous for to see,Yet nothing could the courage quellOf 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 enemyThey fiercely did assail,And fought it out most furiously,Not doubting to prevail:The wounded men on both sides fellMost piteous for to see,Yet nothing could the courage quellOf brave lord Willoughbèy.

THE BRAVE LORD WILLOUGHBY.THE BRAVE LORD WILLOUGHBY.

For seven hours to all men's viewThis fight endured sore,Until our men so feeble grew,That they could fight no more;And then upon dead horsesFull 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 devoutlyFor 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 soldiersCharge on most furiously;Which made the Spaniards waver,They thought it best to flee,They fear'd the stout behaviourOf 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 WilloughbeyWith courage fierce and fell,He will not give one inch of wayFor all the devils in hell.And then the fearful enemyWas 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 EnglandWith all the speed might be,And soon our gracious queen was toldOf 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 pensionOf fifteen pence a day;And from all costs and chargesShe quit and set them free:And this she did all for the sakeOf brave lord Willoughbèy.Then courage, noble Englishmen,And never be dismayed:If that we be but one to ten,We will not be afraidTo fight with foreign enemies,And set our nation free.And thus I end the bloody boutOf brave lord Willoughbèy.

When they had fed so freely,They kneeled on the ground,And praised God devoutlyFor 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 soldiersCharge on most furiously;Which made the Spaniards waver,They thought it best to flee,They fear'd the stout behaviourOf 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 WilloughbeyWith courage fierce and fell,He will not give one inch of wayFor all the devils in hell.

And then the fearful enemyWas 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 EnglandWith all the speed might be,And soon our gracious queen was toldOf 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 pensionOf fifteen pence a day;And from all costs and chargesShe quit and set them free:And this she did all for the sakeOf brave lord Willoughbèy.

Then courage, noble Englishmen,And never be dismayed:If that we be but one to ten,We will not be afraidTo fight with foreign enemies,And set our nation free.And thus I end the bloody boutOf brave lord Willoughbèy.

FOOTNOTES:[124]Peregrine Bertie, Lord Willoughbey of Eresby, died 1601.[125]A kind of gun.

[124]Peregrine Bertie, Lord Willoughbey of Eresby, died 1601.

[125]A kind of gun.

King John and the Abbot of Canterbury.

AAn ancient story I'll tell you anonOf 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.

AAn ancient story I'll tell you anonOf 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.

KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY.KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY.

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 soldAmong 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.

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 soldAmong 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.

[126]Hurt.

[127]Place.

[128]St. Botolph.

Robin Hood and the Curtal Friar.

IIn the summer time, when leaves grow green,And flowers are fresh and gay,Robin Hood and his merry menWere 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 milesTo find one to match thee.That caused Will Scarlet to laugh,He laugh'd full heartily;There lives a friar in Fountain's AbbeyWill beat both him and thee.The curtal friar in Fountain's AbbeyWell 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 sideAnd 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 badTill 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 badTill 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 againAnd stepp'd up to his knee;Till he came to the middle of the streamNeither good nor bad spake he;And coming to the middle of the streamThere he threw Robin in;And choose thee, choose thee, fine fellow,Whether thou wilt sink or swim.

IIn the summer time, when leaves grow green,And flowers are fresh and gay,Robin Hood and his merry menWere 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 milesTo find one to match thee.

That caused Will Scarlet to laugh,He laugh'd full heartily;There lives a friar in Fountain's AbbeyWill beat both him and thee.

The curtal friar in Fountain's AbbeyWell 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 sideAnd 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 badTill 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 badTill 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 againAnd stepp'd up to his knee;Till he came to the middle of the streamNeither good nor bad spake he;

And coming to the middle of the streamThere he threw Robin in;And choose thee, choose thee, fine fellow,Whether thou wilt sink or swim.

ROBIN HOOD AND THE CURTALL FRYER.ROBIN HOOD AND THE CURTALL FRYER.

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 beltTo the friar he let fly:The curtal friar with his steel bucklerDid 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 fistWould 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 dogsCame 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 greenOff 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 dogsLay 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 yearA 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.

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 beltTo the friar he let fly:The curtal friar with his steel bucklerDid 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 fistWould 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 dogsCame 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 greenOff 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 dogsLay 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 yearA 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.

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