Chapter VI: Part THE SECOND

"Lowe lay'd by my sorrow, begot by disdaine,
_O willow, willow, willow!_
Against her too cruell, still, still I complaine.
_O willow, willow, willow!_
_O willow, willow, willow!_ 5
_Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland!_

"O love too injurious, to wound my poore heart,
_O willow, &c._
To suffer the triumph, and joy in my smart!
_O willow, &c._ 10
_Sing, O the greene willow, &c._

"O willow, willow, willow! the willow garl[a']nd,
_O willow, &c._
A sign of her falsenesse before me doth stand.
_O willow, &c._ 15
_Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland._

"As here it doth bid to despair and to dye,
_O willow, &c._
So hang it, friends, ore me in grave where I lye.
_O willow, &c._ 20
_Sing, O the greene willow, &c._

"In grave where I rest mee, hang this to the view,
_O willow, &c._
Of all that doe knowe her, to blaze her untrue.
_O willow, &c._ 25
_Sing, O the greene willow, &c._

"With these words engraven, as epitaph meet,
_O willow, &c._
'Here lyes one, drank poyson for potion most sweet.'
_O willow, &c._ 30
_Sing, O the greene willow, &c._

"Though she thus unkindly hath scorned my love,
_O willow, &c._
And carelesly smiles at the sorrowes I prove;
_O willow, &c._ 35
_Sing, O the greene willow, &c._

"I cannot against her unkindly exclaim,
_O willow, &c._
Cause once well I loved her, and honoured her name.
_O willow, &c._ 40
_Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland._

"The name of her sounded so sweete in mine eare,
_O willow, &c._
It rays'd my heart lightly, the name of my deare;
_O willow, &c._ 45
_Sing, O the greene willow, &c._

"As then 'twas my comfort, it now is my griefe;
_O willow, &c._
It now brings me anguish; then brought me reliefe.
_O willow, &c._ 50
_Sing, O the greene willow, &c._

"Farewell, faire false hearted, plaints end with my breath!
_O willow, willow, willow!_
Thou dost loath me, I love thee, though cause of my death.
_O willow, willow, willow!_ 55
_O willow, willow, willow!_
_Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland._"

GREENSLEEVES.

From _A Handefull of Pleasant Delites_, &c., London, 1584, as reprinted in Park's _Heliconia_, vol. ii. p. 23. It is there entitled _A New Courtly Sonet of the Lady Greensleeves. To the new Tune of Greensleeves_.

"The earliest mention of the ballad of _Green Sleeves_, in the Registers of the Stationers' Company, is in September, 1580, when Richard Jones had licensed to him _A New Northern Dittye of the Lady Green Sleeves_."

"_Green Sleeves_, or _Which nobody can deny_, has been a favorite tune from the time of Elizabeth to the present day, and is still frequently to be heard in the streets of London to songs with the old burden, _Which nobody can deny_. It will also be recognized as the air of _Christmas comes but once a year_, and many another merry ditty." CHAPPELL'S _Popular Music of the Olden Time_, p. 227.

_Greensleeves_ is twice alluded to by Shakespeare in _The Merry Wives of Windsor_; Act ii. Sc. 1; Act v. Sc. 5.

Alas, my love, ye do me wrong
To cast me oft discurteously,
And I have loved you so long,
Delighting in your companie.
_Greensleeves was all my joy_,
_Greensleeves was my delight_,
_Greensleeves was my heart of gold_,
_And who but Ladie Greensleeves_.

I have been readie at your hand 5
To grant what ever you would crave;
I have both waged life and land,
Your love and good will for to have.
_Greensleeves was all my joy, &c._

I bought thee kerchers to thy head
That were wrought fine and gallantly; 10
I kept thee both at boord and bed,
Which cost my purse well favouredly.
_Greensleeves was all my joie, &c._

I bought thee peticotes of the best,
The cloth so fine as fine might be;
I gave thee jewels for thy chest, 15
And all this cost I spent on thee.
_Greensleeves was all my joie, &c._

Thy smock of silke, both faire and white,
With gold embrodered gorgeously,
Thy peticote of sendall right,
And this I bought thee gladly.[L20] 20
_Greensleeves was all my joie, &c._

Thy girdle of gold so red,
With pearles bedecked sumtuously,--
The like no other lasses had,--
And yet thou wouldest not love me.
_Greensleeves was all my joie, &c._

Thy purse, and eke thy gay guilt knives, 25
Thy pincase, gallant to the eie,--
No better wore the burgesse wives,--
And yet thou wouldst not love me.
_Greensleeves was all my joy, &c._

Thy crimson stockings, all of silk,
With golde all wrought above the knee; 30
Thy pumps, as white as was the milk,
And yet thou wouldst not love me.
_Greensleeves was all my joie, &c._

Thy gown was of the grassie green,
Thy sleeves of satten hanging by,
Which made thee be our harvest queen, 35
And yet thou wouldst not love me.
_Greensleeves was all my joie, &c._

Thy garters fringed with the golde,
And silver aglets hanging by,
Which made thee blithe for to beholde,--
And yet thou wouldst not love me. 40
_Greensleeves was all my joie, &c._

My gayest gelding I thee gave,
To ride where ever liked thee,
No ladie ever was so brave,
And yet thou wouldst not love me.
_Greensleeves was all my joie, &c._

My men were clothed all in green, 45
And they did ever wait on thee;
All this was gallant to be seen,
And yet thou wouldst not love me.
_Greensleeves was all my joie, &c._

They set thee up, they took thee downe,
They served thee with humilitie; 50
Thy foote might not once touch the ground,
And yet thou wouldst not love me.
_Greensleeves was all my joie, &c._

For everie morning, when thou rose,
I sent thee dainties, orderly,
To cheare thy stomack from all woes, 55
And yet thou wouldst not love me.
_Greensleeves was all my joie, &c._

Thou couldst desire no earthly thing
But stil thou hadst it readily;
Thy musicke still to play and sing,
And yet thou wouldst not love me. 60
_Greensleeves was all my joie, &c._

And who did pay for all this geare,
That thou didst spend when pleased thee?
Even I that am rejected here,
And thou disdainst to love me.
_Greensleeves was all my joie, &c._

Wel, I wil pray to God on hie 65
That thou my constancie maist see,
And that yet once before I die
Thou will vouchsafe to love me.
_Greensleeves was all my joie, &c._

Greensleeves, now farewel, adue!
God I pray to prosper thee, 70
For I am stil thy lover true;
Come once againe, and love me!
_Greensleeves was all my joie, &c._

20, And thus.

ROBENE AND MAKYNE.

This exceedingly pretty pastoral, the earliest poem of the kind in the Scottish language, is ascribed in the Bannatyne MS., where it is preserved, to Robert Henryson, who appears to have written in the latter half of the fifteenth century. All that is certainly known of the author is that he was chief schoolmaster of Dunfermline.

_Robene and Makyne_ was first printed by Ramsay in his _Evergreen_, (i. 56,) and afterwards by Lord Hailes, in _Ancient Scottish Poems published from the MS. of George Bannatyne_, (p. 98.) Some freedoms were taken with the text by Ramsay, and one line was altered by Lord Hailes. Our copy is given from Sibbald's _Chronicle of Scottish Poetry_, (i. 115,) where the manuscript is faithfully adhered to.

Robene sat on gud grene hill,
Keipand a flok of fie:
Mirry Makyne said him till,
"Robene, thow rew on me;
I haif th['e] luvit, lowd and still, 5
Thir yeiris two or thr['e];
My dule in dern bot gif thow dill,
Doutles bot dreid I d['e]."

Robene answerit, "Be the rude,
Na thing of lufe I knaw, 10
Bot keipis my scheip undir yone wud;
Lo quhair thay raik on raw.
Quhat hes marrit th['e] in thy mude,
Makyne, to me thow schaw;
Or quhat is love, or to be lude? 15
Faine wald I leir that law."

"At luvis lair gife thow will leir,
Tak thair ane A, B, C;
Be kynd, courtas, and fair of feir,
Wyse, hardy, and fr['e]. 20
S['e] that no denger do th['e] deir,
Quhat dule in dern thow dr['e];
Preiss th['e] with pane at all poweir,
Be patient and previe."

Robene answerit her agane: 25
"I wait nocht quhat is luve,
Bot I haif mervell in certaine,
Quhat makis th['e] this wanrufe;
The weddir is fair, and I am fane,
My scheip gois haill aboif, 30
And we wald play us in this plane,
They wald us bayth reproif."

"Robene, tak tent unto my taill,
And wirk all as I reid,
And thow sall haif my hairt all haill, 35
Eik and my madinheid.
Sen God sendis bute for baill,
And for murning remeid,
I dern with th['e] bot gif I daill,
Dowbtles I am bot deid." 40

"Makyne, to morne this ilka tyde,
And ye will meit me heir;
Perventure my scheip ma gang besyd,
Quhyll we haif liggit full neir:
Bot maugre haif I, and I byd, 45
Fra they begin to steir;
Quhat lyis on hairt I will nocht hyd;
Makyne, than mak gud cheir."

"Robene, thou reivis me roiss and rest;
I luve bot th['e] allone." 50
"Makyne, adew, the sone gois west,
The day is neirhand gone."
"Robene, in dule I am so drest,
That lufe will be my bone."
"Ga lufe, Makyne, quhair evir thou list, 55
For leman I lue none."

"Robene, I stand in sic a style,
I sicht, and that full sair."
"Makyne, I haif bene heir this quyle:
At hame God gif I wair!" 60
"My hinny, Robene, talk ane quhyle,
Gif thou wilt do na mair."
"Makyne, sum uthir man begyle,
For hamewart I will fair."

Robene on his wayis went, 65
As licht as leif of tr['e];
Makyne murnit in her intent,
And trowd him nevir to s['e].
Robene brayd attour the bent;
Than Makyne cryit on hie, 70
"Now ma thow sing, for I am schent!
Quhat alis lufe with me?"

Makyne went hame withouttin faill,
Full werry eftir cowth weip:
Than Robene in a ful fair daill 75
Assemblit all his scheip.
Be that sum parte of Makyne's ail
Out throw his hairt cowd creip;
He followit hir fast thair till assail,
And till her tuke gude keep. 80

"Abyd, abyd, thou fair Makyne,
A word for ony thing;
For all my luve it sall be thyne,
Withouttin departing.
All haill! thy harte for till haif myne, 85
Is all my cuvating;
My scheip to morn, quhill houris nyne,
Will neid of no keping."

"Robene, thou hes hard soung and say,
In gestis and storeis auld, 90
_The man that will not quhen he may,
Sall haif nocht quhen he wald._
I pray to Jesu every day,
Mot eik thair cairis cauld,
That first preissis with th['e] to play, 95
Be firth, forrest, or fawld."

"Makyne, the nicht is soft and dry,
The wedder is warme and fair,
And the grene woud rycht neir us by
To walk attour all quhair: 100
Thair ma na janglour us espy,
That is to lufe contrair;
Thairin, Makyne, bath ye and I,
Unsene we ma repair."

"Robene, that warld is all away, 105
And quyt brocht till ane end,
And nevir again thereto, perfay,
Sall it be as thou wend;
For of my pane thou maide it play,
And all in vane I spend: 110
As thou hes done, sa sall I say,
Murne on, I think to mend."

"Makyne, the howp of all my heill,
My hairt on th['e] is sett,
And evir mair to th['e] be leill, 115
Quhile I may leif but lett;
Nevir to faill, as utheris faill,
Quhat grace that evir I gett."
"Robene, with th['e] I will not deill;
Adew, for thus we mett." 120

Makyne went hame blyth anewche,
Attoure the holtis hair;
Robene murnit, and Makyne lewche;
Scho sang, he sichit sair:
And so left him, bayth wo and wreuch, 125
In dolour and in cair,
Kepand his hird under a huche,
Amang the holtis hair.