A Collection of Ballads, Andrew Lang [english love story books txt] 📗

harde weyse men saye, Yeff a por yeman com drywyng ower the wey, To let hem of hes gorney.”

“Be mey trowet, thow seys soyt,” seyde Roben, “Thow seys god yemenrey; And thow dreyffe forthe yevery day, Thow schalt never be let for me.

“Y well prey the, god potter, A felischepe well thow haffe? Geffe me they clothyng, and thow schalt hafe myne; Y well go to Notynggam.”

“Y grant therto,” seyde the potter, “Thow schalt feynde me a felow gode; But thow can sell mey pottes well, Come ayen as thow yode.”

“Nay, be mey trowt,” seyde Roben, “And then y bescro mey hede Yeffe y bryng eney pottes ayen, And eney weyffe well hem chepe.”

Than spake Leytell John, And all hes felowhes heynd, “Master, be well war of the screffe of Notynggam, For he ys leytell howr frende.”

“Heyt war howte,” seyde Roben, “Felowhes, let me alone; Thorow the helpe of howr ladey, To Notynggam well y gon.”

Robyn went to Notynggam, Thes pottes for to sell; The potter abode with Robens men, Ther he fered not eylle.

Tho Roben droffe on hes wey, So merey ower the londe: Heres mor and affter ys to saye, The best ys beheynde.

 

[THE SECOND FIT.]

 

When Roben cam to Netynggam, The soyt yef y scholde saye, He set op hes horse anon, And gaffe hem hotys and haye.

Yn the medys of the towne, Ther he schowed hes war; “Pottys! pottys!” he gan crey foll sone, “Haffe hansell for the mar.”

Foll effen agenest the screffeys gate Schowed he hes chaffar; Weyffes and wedowes abowt hem drow, And chepyd fast of hes war.

Yet, “Pottys, gret chepe!” creyed Robyn, “Y loffe yeffell thes to stonde;” And all that saw hem sell, Seyde he had be no potter long.

The pottys that wer werthe pens feyffe, He sold tham for pens thre; Preveley seyde man and weyffe, “Ywnder potter schall never the.”

Thos Roben solde foll fast, Tell he had pottys bot feyffe; On he hem toke of his car, And sende hem to the screffeys weyffe.

Therof sche was foll fayne, “Gramarsey, sir,” than seyde sche; “When ye com to thes contre ayen, Y schall bey of they pottys, so mot y the.”

“Ye schall haffe of the best,” seyde Roben, And swar be the treneyte; Foll corteysley she gan hem call, “Com deyne with the screfe and me.”

“Godamarsey,” seyde Roben, “Yowr bedyng schalle be doyn;” A mayden yn the pottys gan ber, Roben and the screffe weyffe folowed anon.

Whan Roben ynto the hall cam, The screffe sone he met; The potter cowed of corteysey, And sone the screffe he gret.

“Loketh what thes potter hayt geffe yow and me; Feyffe pottys smalle and grete!” “He ys fol wellcom, seyd the screffe, “Let os was, and go to mete.”

As they sat at her methe, With a nobell cher, Two of the screffes men gan speke Off a gret wager,

Was made the thother daye, Off a schotyng was god and feyne, Off forty shillings, the soyt to saye, Who scholde thes wager wen.

Styll than sat thes prowde po, Thos than thowt he; “As y am a trow Cerstyn man, Thes schotyng well y se.”

Whan they had fared of the best, With bred and ale and weyne, To the bottys they made them prest, With bowes and boltys full feyne.

The screffes men schot foll fast, As archares that weren godde; Ther cam non ner ney the marke Bey halfe a god archares bowe.

Stell then stod the prowde potter, Thos than seyde he; “And y had a bow, be the rode, On schot scholde yow se.”

“Thow schall haffe a bow,” seyde the screffe, “The best that thow well cheys of thre; Thou semyst a stalward and a stronge, Asay schall thow be.”

The screffe commandyd a yeman that stod hem bey Affter bowhes to wende; The best bow that the yeman browthe Roben set on a stryng.

“Now schall y wet and thow be god, And polle het op to they ner;” “So god me helpe,” seyde the prowde potter, “Thys ys bot rygzt weke ger.”

To a quequer Roben went, A god bolt owthe he toke; So ney on to the marke he went, He fayled not a fothe.

All they schot abowthe agen, The screffes men and he; Off the marke he welde not fayle, He cleffed the preke on thre.

The screffes men thowt gret schame, The potter the mastry wan; The screffe lowe and made god game, And seyde, “Potter, thow art a man; Thow art worthey to ber a bowe, Yn what plas that thow gang.”

“Yn mey cart y haffe a bowe, Forsoyt,” he seyde, “and that a godde; Yn mey cart ys the bow That I had of Robyn Hode.”

“Knowest thow Robyn Hode?” seyde the screffe, “Potter, y prey the tell thou me;” “A hundred torne y haffe schot with hem, Under hes tortyll tree.”

“Y had lever nar a hundred ponde,” seyde the screffe, And swar be the trenite, [“Y had lever nar a hundred ponde,” he seyde,] “That the fals owtelawe stod be me.

“And ye well do afftyr mey red,” seyde the potter, “And boldeley go with me, And to morow, or we het bred, Roben Hode wel we se.”

“Y well queyt the,” kod the screffe, And swer be god of meythe; Schetyng thay left, and hom they went, Her scoper was redey deythe.

Upon the morow, when het was day, He boskyd hem forthe to reyde; The potter hes carte forthe gan ray, And wolde not [be] leffe beheynde.

He toke leffe of the screffys wyffe, And thankyd her of all thyng: “Dam, for mey loffe, and ye well thys wer, Y geffe yow her a golde ryng.”

“Gramarsey,” seyde the weyffe, “Sir, god eylde het the;” The screffes hart was never so leythe, The feyr forest to se.

And when he cam ynto the foreyst, Yonder the leffes grene, Berdys ther sange on bowhes prest, Het was gret joy to sene.

“Her het ys mercy to be,” seyde Roben, “For a man that had hawt to spende; Be mey horne we schall awet Yeff Roben Hode be ner hande.”

Roben set hes horne to hes mowthe, And blow a blast that was full god, That herde hes men that ther stode, Fer downe yn the wodde; “I her mey master,” seyde Leytell John; They ran as thay wer wode.

Whan thay to thar master cam, Leytell John wold not spar; “Master, how haffe yow far yn Notynggam? How haffe yow solde yowr war?”

“Ye, be mey trowthe, Leytyll John, Loke thow take no car; Y haffe browt the screffe of Notynggam, For all howr chaffar.”

“He ys foll wellcom,” seyde Lytyll John, “Thes tydyng ys foll godde;” The screffe had lever nar a hundred ponde [He had never sene Roben Hode.]

“Had I west that beforen, At Notynggam when we wer, Thow scholde not com yn feyr forest Of all thes thowsande eyr.”

“That wot y well,” seyde Roben, “Y thanke god that ye be her; Therfor schall ye leffe yowr horse with hos, And all your hother ger.”

“That fend I godys forbode,” kod the screffe, “So to lese mey godde;” “Hether ye cam on horse foll hey, And hom schall ye go on fote; And gret well they weyffe at home, The woman ys foll godde.

“Y schall her sende a wheyt palffrey, Het hambellet as the weynde; Ner for the loffe of yowr weyffe, Off mor sorow scholde yow seyng.”

Thes parted Robyn Hode and the screffe, To Notynggam he toke the waye; Hes weyffe feyr welcomed hem hom, And to hem gan sche saye:

“Seyr, how haffe yow fared yn grene foreyst? Haffe ye browt Roben hom?” “Dam, the deyell spede him, bothe bodey and bon, Y haffe hade a foll grete skorne.

“Of all the god that y haffe lade to grene wod, He hayt take het fro me, All bot this feyr palffrey, That he hayt sende to the.”

With that sche toke op a lowde lawhyng, And swhar be hem that deyed on tre, “Now haffe yow payed for all the pottys That Roben gaffe to me.

“Now ye be corn hom to Notynggam, Ye schall haffe god ynowe;” Now speke we of Roben Hode, And of the pottyr onder the grene bowhe.

“Potter, what was they pottys worthe To Notynggam that y ledde with me?” “They wer worth two nobellys,” seyd he, “So mot y treyffe or the; So cowde y had for tham, And y had ther be.”

“Thow schalt hafe ten ponde,” seyde Roben, “Of money feyr and fre; And yever whan thou comest to grene wod, Wellcom, potter to me.”

Thes partyd Robyn, the screffe, and the potter, Ondernethe the grene-wod tre; God haffe mersey on Robyn Hodys solle, And saffe all god yemanrey!

 

Ballad: Robin Hood And The Butcher

 

Come, all you brave gallants, and listen awhile, With hey down, down, an a down, That are in the bowers within; For of Robin Hood, that archer good, A song I intend for to sing.

Upon a time it chanced so, Bold Robin in forrest did ‘spy A jolly butcher, with a bonny fine mare, With his flesh to the market did hye.

“Good morrow, good fellow,” said jolly Robin, “What food hast [thou]? tell unto me; Thy trade to me tell, and where thou dost dwell, For I like well thy company.”

The butcher he answer’d jolly Robin, “No matter where I dwell; For a butcher I am, and to Nottingham I am going, my flesh to sell.”

“What’s [the] price of thy flesh?” said jolly Robin, “Come, tell it soon unto me; And the price of thy mare, be she never so dear, For a butcher fain would I be.”

“The price of my flesh,” the butcher repli’d, “I soon will tell unto thee; With my bonny mare, and they are not too dear, Four mark thou must give unto me.”

“Four mark I will give thee,” saith jolly Robin, “Four mark it shall be thy fee; The mony come count, and let me mount, For a butcher I fain would be.”

Now Robin he is to Nottingham gone, His butchers trade to begin; With good intent to the sheriff he went, And there he took up his inn.

When other butchers did open their meat, Bold Robin he then begun; But how for to sell he knew not well, For a butcher he was but young.

When other butchers no meat could sell, Robin got both gold and fee; For he sold more meat for one peny Then others could do for three.

But when he sold his meat so fast, No butcher by him could thrive; For he sold more meat for one peny Than others could do for five.

Which made the butchers of Nottingham To study as they did stand, Saying, “Surely he ‘is’ some prodigal, That hath sold his fathers land.”

The butchers stepped to jolly Robin, Acquainted with him for to be; “Come, brother,” one said, “we be all of one trade, Come, will you go dine with me?”

“Accurst of his heart,” said jolly Robin, “That a butcher doth deny; I will go with you, my brethren true, As fast as I can hie.”

But when to the sheriffs house they came, To dinner they hied apace, And Robin Hood he the man must be Before them all to say grace.

“Pray God bless us all,” said jolly Robin, “And our meat within this place; A cup of sack so good will nourish our blood, And so do I end my grace.”

“Come fill us more wine,” said jolly Robin, “Let us be merry while we do stay; For wine and good cheer, be it never so dear, I vow I the reck’ning will pay.

“Come, ‘brothers,’ be merry,” said jolly Robin, “Let us