Ballads of Robin Hood and other Outlaws Part 4

42.

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

43.

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

44.

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

45.

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

46.

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

47.

'I am none of those,' sayde the knyght, 'By G.o.d that made me; An hundred wynter here before Myn auncetres knyghtes have be.

48.

'But oft it hath befal, Robyn, A man hath be disgrate; But G.o.d that sitteth in heven above May amende his state.

49.

'Withyn this two yere, Robyne,' he sayde, 'My neghbours well it knowe, Foure hundred pounde of G.o.de money Ful well than myght I spende.

50.

'Nowe have I no G.o.de,' saide the knyght, 'G.o.d hath shapen suche an ende, But my chyldren and my wyfe, Tyll G.o.d yt may amende.'

51.

'In what maner,' than sayde Robyn, 'Hast thou lorne thy rychesse?'

'For my greate foly,' he sayde, 'And for my kyndenesse.

52.

'I hade a sone, forsoth, Robyn, That shulde have ben myn ayre, Whanne he was twenty wynter olde, In felde wolde just full fayre.

53.

'He slewe a knyght of Lancashire, And a squyer bolde; For to save him in his ryght My G.o.des beth sette and solde.

54.

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

55.

'What is the som?' sayde Robyn; 'Trouth than tell thou me.'

'Sir,' he sayde, 'foure hundred pounde; The abbot told it to me.'

56.

'Nowe and thou lese thy lond,' sayde Robyn, 'What shall fall of thee?'

'Hastely I wol me buske,' sayd the knyght, 'Over the salte see,

57.

'And se where Criste was quyke and dede, On the mount of Calvere; Fare wel, frende, and have G.o.de day; It may no better be.'

58.

Teris fell out of hys iyen two; He wolde have gone hys way; 'Farewel, frende, and have G.o.de day, I ne have no more to pay.'

59.

'Where be thy frendes?' sayde Robyn: 'Syr, never one wol me knowe; While I was rych ynowe at home Great boste than wolde they blowe.

60.

'And nowe they renne away fro me, As bestis on a rowe; They take no more hede of me Thanne they had me never sawe.'

61.

For ruthe thanne wept Litell Johnn, Scarlok and Much in fere; 'Fyl of the best wyne,' sayde Robyn, 'For here is a symple chere.

62.

'Hast thou any frende,' sayde Robyn, 'Thy borrowe that wolde be?'

'I have none,' than sayde the knyght, 'But G.o.d that dyed on tree.'

63.

'Do away thy j.a.pis,' than sayde Robyn, 'Thereof wol I right none; Wenest thou I wolde have G.o.d to borowe, Peter, Poule, or Johnn?

64.

'Nay, by hym that me made, And shope both sonne and mone, Fynde me a better borowe,' sayde Robyn, 'Or money getest thou none.'

65.

'I have none other,' sayde the knyght, 'The sothe for to say, But yf yt be Our dere Lady; She fayled me never or thys day.'

66.

'By dere worthy G.o.d,' sayde Robyn, 'To seche all Englonde thorowe, Yet fonde I never to my pay A moche better borowe.

67.

'Come nowe furth, Litell Johnn, And go to my tresoure, And bringe me foure hundred pound, And loke well tolde it be.'

68.

Furth than went Litell Johnn, And Scarlok went before; He tolde oute foure hundred pounde By eight and twenty score.

69.

'Is thys well tolde?' sayde lytell Much; Johnn sayde: 'What greveth thee?

It is almus to helpe a gentyll knyght That is fal in poverte.

70.

'Master,' than sayde Lityll John, 'His clothinge is full thynne; Ye must gyve the knight a lyveray, To lappe his body therein.

71.

'For ye have scarlet and grene, mayster, And many a rich aray; Ther is no marchaunt in mery Englond So ryche, I dare well say.'

72.

'Take hym thre yerdes of every colour, And loke well mete that it be.'

Lytell Johnn toke none other mesure But his bowe-tree.