The Book of Brave Old Ballads

Excerpt

THE BOY'S
BOOK OF BALLADS.

Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne.

When shawsbe sheen,and swards full fair,
And leaves both large and long,
It is merry walking in the fair forest
To hear the small birds' song.
The woodweelsang, and would not cease,
Sitting upon the spray,
So loud, he wakened Robin Hood,
In the greenwood where he lay.
Now by my faith, said jolly Robin,
A sweavenI had this night;
I dreamt me of two wightyeomen
That fast with me can fight.
Methought they did me beat and bind,
And took my bow me fro';
If I be Robin alive in this land,
I'll be wrokenon them two.
Sweavens are swift, master, quoth John,
As the wind that blows o'er a hill;
For if it be never so loud this night,
To-morrow it may be still.
Busk ye, bowneye, my merry men all,
And John shall go with me,
For I'll go seek yon wight yeomen,
In the greenwood where they be.
Then they cast on their gowns of green,
And took their bows each one,
And they away to the green forèst,
A shooting forth are gone;
Until they came to the merry greenwood,
Where they had gladdest be,
There were they aware of a wight yeoman,
His body leaned to a tree.
A sword and a dagger he wore by his side,
Of many a man the bane;
And he was clad in his capullhide
Top and tail and mane.
Stand you still, master, quoth Little John,
Under this tree so green,
And I will go to yon wight yeoman
To know what he doth mean.
Ah! John, by me thou settest no store,
And that I fairly find;
How oft send I my men before,
And tarry myself behind?
It is no cunning a knave to ken,
Ana man but hear him speak;
An it were not for bursting of my bow,
John, I thy head would break.
As often words they breeden bale,
So they parted, Robin and John;
And John is gone to Barnesdale:
The gateshe knoweth each one.
But when he came to Barnesdale,
Great heaviness there he had,
For he found two of his own fellows
Were slain both in a glade.
And Scarlett he was flying a-foot
Fast over stock and stone,
For the proud sheriff with seven score men
Fast after him is gone.
One shot now I will shoot, quoth John,
(With Christe his might and main;)
I'll make yon fellow that flies so fast,
To stop he shall be fain.
Then John bent up his long bende-bow,
And fettledhim to shoot:
The bow was made of tender bough,
And fell down to his foot.
Woe worth, woe worth thee, wicked wood,
That ere thou grew on a tree;
For now this day thou art my bale,
My bootewhen thou shouldst be.
His shoot it was but loosely shot,
Yet flew not the arrow in vain,
For it met one of the sheriff's men,—
Good William-a-Trent was slain.
It had been better for William-a-Trent
To have been a-bed with sorrow,
Than to be that day in the greenwood glade
To meet with Little John's arrow.
But as it is said, when men be met,
Five can do more than three,
The sheriff hath taken Little John,
And bound him fast to a tree.
Thou shalt be drawn by dale and down,
And hang'd high on a hill.
But thou mayst fail of thy purpose, quoth John,
If it be Christe his will....