Delphi Poetry Anthology: The World's Greatest Poems (Delphi Poets Series Book 50) (68 page)

With that bespoke my good lord Grahame:
 
‘O man, I have lost the better block;
I have lost my comfort and my joy,
  
215
 
I have lost my key, I have lost my lock.

‘Had I gone through all Ladderdale,
 
And forty horse had set on me,
Had Christy Grahame been at my back,
 
So well as he would guarded me.’
  
220

I have no more of my song to sing,
 
But two or three words to you I’ll name;
But ‘twill be talked in Carlisle town
 
That these two old men were all the blame.

List of Poems in Alphabetical Order

List of Poets in Alphabetical Order

A Gest of Robyn Hode

The First Fytte

Traditional Ballads

LYTHE and listin, gentilmen,
 
That be of frebore blode;
I shall you tel of a gode yeman,
 
His name was Robyn Hode.

Robyn was a prude outlaw,
  
5
 
Whyles he walked on grounde;
So curteyse an outlaw as he was one
 
Was never non yfounde.

Robyn stode in Bernesdale,
 
And lenyd hym to a tre;
  
10
And bi him stode Litell Johnn
 
A gode yeman was he.

And alsoo dyd gode Scarlok,
 
And Much, the miller’s son;
There was none ynch of his bodi
  
15
 
But it was worth a grome.

Than bespake Lytell Johnn
 
All untoo Robyn Hode:
Maister, and ye wolde dyne betyme
 
It wolde doo you moche gode.
  
20

Than bespake hym gode Robyn:
 
To dyne have I noo lust,
Till that I have som bolde baron
 
Or som unkouth gest.

. . . . . . .

That may pay for the best,
  
25
Or some knyght or som squyer
 
That dwelleth here bi west.

A gode maner than had Robyn;
 
In londe where that he were,
Every day or he wold dyne
  
30
 
Thre messis wolde he here.

The one in the worship of the Fader,
 
And another of the Holy Gost,
The thirde was of Our dere Lady
 
That he loved allther moste.
  
35

Robyn loved Oure dere Lady;
 
For dout of dydly synne,
Wolde he never do compani harme
 
That any woman was in.

‘Maistar,’ than sayde Lytil Johnn,
  
40
 
‘And we our borde shal sprede,
Tell us wheder that we shall go
 
And what life that we shall lede.

‘Where we shall take, where we shall leve,
 
Where we shall abide behynde;
  
45
Where we shall robbe, where we shall reve,
 
Where we shall bete and bynde.’

‘Thereof no force,’ than sayde Robyn;
 
‘We shall do well inowe;
But loke ye do no husbonde harme
  
50
 
That tilleth with his ploughe.

‘No more ye shall no gode yeman
 
That walketh by grene-wode shawe;
Ne no knyght ne no squyer
 
That wol be a gode felawe.
  
55

‘These bisshoppes and these archebishoppes,
 
Ye shall them bete and bynde;
The hye sherif of Notyngham,
 
Hym holde ye in your mynde.’

‘This worde shalbe holde,’ sayde Lytell Johnn,
  
60
 
‘And this lesson we shall lere;
It is fer dayes; God sende us a gest,
 
That we were at our dynere.’

‘Take thy gode bowe in thy honde,’ sayde Robyn;
 
‘Late Much wende with the;
  
65
And so shal Willyam Scarlok,
 
And no man abyde with me.

‘And walke up to the Saylis
 
And so to Watlinge Strete,
And wayte after some unkuth gest,
  
70
 
Up chaunce ye may them mete.

‘Be he erle, or ani baron,
 
Abbot, or ani knyght,
Bringhe hym to lodge to me;
 
His dyner shall be dight.’
  
75

They wente up to the Saylis,
 
These yemen all three;
They loked est, they loked weest,
 
They myght no man see.

But as they loked in to Bernysdale,
  
80
 
Bi a dernë strete,
Than came a knyght ridinghe;
 
Full sone they gan hym mete.

All dreri was his semblaunce,
 
And lytell was his pryde;
  
85
His one fote in the styrop stode,
 
That othere wavyd beside.

His hode hanged in his iyn two;
 
He rode in symple aray;
A soriar man than he was one
  
90
 
Rode never in somer day.

Litell Johnn was full curteyes,
 
And sette hym on his kne:
‘Welcom be ye, gentyll knyght,
 
Welcom ar ye to me.
  
95

‘Welcom be thou to grenë wode,
 
Hendë knyght and fre;
My maister hath abiden you fastinge,
 
Syr, al these oures thre.’

‘Who is thy maister?’ sayde the knyght;
  
100
 
Johnn sayde, ‘Robyn Hode’;
‘He is a gode yoman,’ sayde the knyght,
 
‘Of hym I have herde moche gode.

‘I graunte,’ he sayde, ‘with you to wende,
 
My bretherne, all in fere;
  
105
My purpos was to have dyned to day
 
At Blith or Dancastere.’

Furth than went this gentyl knight,
 
With a carefull chere;
The teris oute of his iyen ran,
  
110
 
And fell downe by his lere.

They brought him to the lodgë-dore;
 
Whan Robyn gan hym see,
Full curtesly dyd of his hode
 
And sette hym on his knee.
  
115

‘Welcome, sir knight,’ than sayde Robyn,
 
‘Welcome art thou to me;
I have abyden you fastinge, sir,
 
All these ouris thre.’

Than answered the gentyll knight,
  
120
 
With wordes fayre and fre:
‘God the save, goode Robyn,
 
And all thy fayre meyne.’

They wasshed togeder and wyped bothe,
 
And sette to theyr dynere;
  
125
Brede and wyne they had right ynoughe,
 
And noumbles of the dere.

Swannes and fessauntes they had full gode,
 
And foules of the ryvere;
There fayled none so litell a birde
  
130
 
That ever was bred on bryre.

‘Do gladly, sir knight,’ sayde Robyn;
 
‘Gramarcy, sir,’ sayde he;
‘Suche a dinere had I nat
 
Of all these wekys thre.
  
135

‘If I come ageyne, Robyn,
 
Here by thys contrë,
As gode a dyner I shall the make
 
As thou haest made to me.’

‘Gramarcy, knyght,’ sayde Robyn;
  
140
 
‘My dyner whan I have,
I was never so gredy, by dere worthi God,
 
My dyner for to crave.

‘But pay or ye wende,’ sayde Robyn;
 
‘Me thynketh it is gode ryght;
  
145
It was never the maner, by dere worthi God,
 
A yoman to pay for a knyght.’

‘I have nought in my coffers,’ saide the knyght,
 
‘That I may profer for shame’:
‘Litell John, go loke,’ sayde Robyn,
  
150
 
‘Ne lat not for no blame.

‘Tel me truth,’ than saide Robyn,
 
‘So God have parte of the’:
‘I have no more but ten shelynges,’ sayde the knyght,
 
‘So God have parte of me.’
  
155

‘If thou have no more,’ sayde Robyn,
 
‘I woll nat one peny;
And yf thou have nede of any more,
 
More shall I lend the.

‘Go nowe furth, Litell Johnn,
  
160
 
The truth tell thou me;
If there be no more but ten shelinges,
 
No peny that I se.’

Lytell Johnn sprede downe hys mantell
 
Full fayre upon the grounde,
  
165
And there he fonde in the knyghtes cofer
 
But even halfe a pounde.

Litell Johnn let it lye full styll,
 
And went to hys maysteer full lowe;
‘What tydynges, Johnn?’ sayde Robyn;
  
170
 
‘Sir, the knyght is true inowe.’

‘Fyll of the best wine,’ sayde Robyn,
 
‘The knyght shall begynne;
Moche wonder thinketh me
 
Thy clothynge is so thinne.
  
175

‘Tell me one worde,’ sayde Robyn,
 
‘And counsel shal it be;
I trowe thou wert made a knyght of force,
 
Or ellys of yemanry.

‘Or ellys thou hast been a sori husbande,
  
180
 
And lyved in stroke and strife;
An okerer, or ellis a lechoure,’ sayde Robyn,
 
‘Wyth wronge hast led thy lyfe.’

‘I am none of those,’ sayde the knyght,
 
‘By God that madë me;
  
185
An hundred wynter here before
 
Myn auncetres knyghtes have be.

‘But oft it hath befal, Robyn,
 
A man hath be disgrate;
But God that sitteth in heven above
  
190
 
May amende his state.

‘Withyn this two yere, Robyne,’ he sayde,
 
‘My neghbours well it knowe,
Foure hundred pounde of gode money
 
Ful well than myght I spende.
  
195

‘Nowe have I no gode,’ saide the knyght,
 
‘God hath shapen such an ende,
But my chyldren and my wyfe,
 
Tyll God yt may amende.’

‘In what maner,’ than sayde Robyn,
  
200
 
‘Hast thou lorne thy rychesse?’
‘For my greate foly,’ he sayde,
 
‘And for my kyndenesse.

‘I had a sone, forsoth, Robyn,
 
That shulde have ben myn ayre,
  
205
Whanne he was twenty wynterolde,
 
In felde wolde just full fayre.

‘He slewe a knyght of Lancashire,
 
And a squyer bolde;
For to save him in his ryght
  
210
 
My godes beth sette and solde.

‘My londes beth sette to wedde, Robyn,
 
Untyll a certayn day,
To a ryche abbot here besyde
 
Of Seynt Mari Abbey.’
  
215

‘What is the som?’ sayde Robyn;
 
‘Trouth than tell thou me’;
‘Sir,’ he sayde, ‘foure hundred pounde;
 
The abbot told it to me.’

‘Nowe and thou lese thy lond,’ sayde Robyn,
  
220
 
‘What shall fall of the?’
‘Hastely I wol me buske [sayd the knyght]
 
Over the saltë see,

‘And se where Criste was quyke and dede,
 
On the mount of Calverë
  
225
Fare wel, frende, and have gode day;
 
It may not better be.’

Teris fell out of hys eyen two;
 
He wolde have gone hys way;
‘Farewel, frendes, and have gode day,
  
230
 
I have no more to pay.’