Chapter XI: Part THE SECOND (2)

The personal courage of this celebrated outlaw, his skill in archery, his humanity, and especially his levelling principle of taking from the rich and giving to the poor, have in all ages rendered him the favourite of the common people, who, not content to celebrate his memory by innumerable songs and stories, have erected him into the dignity of an earl. Indeed, it is not impossible but our hero, to gain the more respect from his followers, or they to derive the more credit to their profession, may have given rise to such a report themselves: for we find it recorded in an epitaph, which, if genuine, must have been inscribed on his tombstone near the nunnery of Kirklees in Yorkshire; where (as the story goes) he was bled to death by a treacherous nun to whom he applied for phlebotomy:--

"Hear undernead dis laitl stean
lai[gh] robert earl of huntingtun
nea arcir ver a[gh] hie sae geud
an pipl kauld im Robin Heud
sick utlaws as hi an is men
vil England nivir si agen.
obiit 24 kal. dekembris. 1247."[480]

This epitaph appears to me suspicious; however, a late antiquary has given a pedigree of _Robin Hood_, which, if genuine, shows that he had real pretensions to the Earldom of Huntingdon, and that his true name was _Robert Fitz-ooth_.[481] Yet the most ancient poems on Robin Hood make no mention of this earldom. He is expressly asserted to have been a yeoman[482] in a very old legend in verse, preserved in the archives of the public library at Cambridge,[483] in eight _fyttes_, or parts, printed in black letter, quarto, thus inscribed: "¶ Here begynneth a lytell geste of Robyn hode and his meyne, and of the proude sheryfe of Notyngham." The first lines are--

"Lithe and lysten, gentylmen,
That be of fre-bore blode:
I shall you tell of a good _yeman_,
His name was Robyn hode.

"Robyn was a proude out-lawe,
Whiles he walked on grounde;
So curteyse an outlawe as he was one,
Was never none yfounde," &c.

The printer's colophon is, "¶ Explicit Kinge Edwarde and Robin hode and Lyttel Johan. Enprented at London in Flete-strete at the sygne of the sone by Wynkin de Worde." In Mr. Garrick's Collection[484] is a different edition of the same poem, "¶ Imprinted at London upon the thre Crane wharfe by Wyllyam Copland," containing at the end a little dramatic piece on the subject of Robin Hood and the Friar, not found in the former copy, called, "A newe playe for to be played in Maye games very plesaunte and full of pastyme. ¶([···])[r¶]."

I shall conclude these preliminary remarks with observing, that the hero of this ballad was the favourite subject of popular songs so early as the time of King Edward III. In the _Visions of Pierce Plowman_, written in that reign, a monk says:--

"I can rimes of Roben Hod, and Randal of Chester,
But of our Lorde and our Lady, I lerne nothyng at all."

Fol. 26, ed. 1550.

See also in Bishop Latimer's _Sermons_[485] a very curious and characteristic story, which shows what respect was shown to the memory of our archer in the time of that prelate.

The curious reader will find many other particulars relating to this celebrated outlaw, in Sir John Hawkins's _Hist. of Music_, vol. iii. p. 410, 4to.

For the catastrophe of Little John, who, it seems, was executed for a robbery on Arbor-hill, Dublin (with some curious particulars relating to his skill in archery), see Mr. J. C. Walker's ingenious _Memoir on the Armour and Weapons of the Irish_, p. 129, annexed to his _Historical Essay on the Dress of the Ancient and Modern Irish_. Dublin, 1788, 4to.

Some liberties were, by the editor, taken with this ballad; which, in this edition, hath been brought nearer to the folio MS.

* * * * *

[Robin Hood is first mentioned in literature in _Piers Plowman_,
the earliest of the three forms of which poem was written probably
about the year 1362. The ballad of _Robin Hood and the Monk_,
printed in Child's _English and Scottish Ballads_, as the oldest
of its class, and possibly as old as the reign of Edward II.,
commences:--

"In somer when the shawes be sheyne
And leves be large and longe
Hit is full mery in feyre foreste
To here the foulys song."

Verses which bear a strong likeness to the opening lines of the
present ballad.

Gisborne is a market town in the West Riding of the county of York
on the borders of Lancashire, and Guy of that place is mentioned by
William Dunbar in a satirical piece on "Schir Thomas Nory," where
he is named in company with Adam Bell and other well-known worthies.

It is not needful to extend this note with any further particulars
of Robin Hood, as he possesses, in virtue of his position as a
popular hero, a literature of his own. Those who wish to know more
of his exploits should consult Ritson's (1795) and Gutch's (1847)
Collections of _Robin Hood Ballads_, Child's _Ballads_, vol. v. and
Chappell's _Popular Music of the Olden Time_, vol. i. pp. 387-400.

There are several Robin Hood Ballads in the folio MS., but Percy
only chose the one containing an account of the encounter with
Guy for printing. Ritson copied this ballad from Percy's book,
but indulged at the same time in a tirade against the bishop's
treatment of his original.]

* * * * *

When shaws beene sheene,[486] and shradds[487] full fayre,[488]
And leaves both large and longe,
Itt is merrye walking in the fayre forrèst
To heare the small birdes songe.[489]

The woodweele[490] sang, and wold not cease,[491] 5
[Sitting upon the spraye,[492]
Soe lowde, he wakened Robin Hood,[492]
In the greenwood where he lay.[492]

Now by my faye,[493] sayd jollye Robìn,[492]
A sweaven[494] I had this night;[492] 10
I dreamt me of tow wighty[495] yemen,[492]
That fast with me can fight.][492]

Methought they did mee beate and binde,
And tooke my bow mee froe;[496]
If I be Robin alive in this lande, 15
Ile be wroken[497] on them towe.

Sweavens are swift, Master, quoth John,
As the wind that blowes ore a hill;
For if itt be never so loude this night,
To-morrow itt may be still. 20

Buske yee, bowne yee,[498] my merry men all,
And John shall goe with mee,
For Ile goe seeke yond wight yeomen,
In greenwood where thé bee.

Thé cast on their gownes of grene, 25
[And tooke theyr bowes each one;
And they away to the greene forrèst]
A shooting forth are gone;[499]

Untill they came to the merry greenwood,
Where they had gladdest bee, 30
There were thé ware[500] of a wight yeomàn,
His body leaned to a tree.

A sword and a dagger he wore by his side,
Of manye a man the bane;[501]
And he was clad in his capull hyde[502] 35
Topp and tayll and mayne.

Stand you still, master, quoth Litle John,
Under this tree so grene,
And I will go to yond wight yeoman
To know what he doth meane.[503] 40

Ah! John, by me thou settest noe store,
And that I farley[504] finde:[505]
How offt send I my men beffore,
And tarry my selfe behinde?

It is no cunning a knave to ken, 45
And a man but heare him speake;
And itt were not for bursting of my bowe,
John, I thy head wold breake.

As often wordes they breeden bale,[506]
So they parted Robin and John; 50
And John is gone to Barnesdale:
The gates[507] he knoweth eche one.

But when he came to Barnesdale,
Great heavinesse there hee hadd,
For he found tow of his owne fellòwes 55
Were slaine both in a slade.[508]

And Scarlette he was flyinge a-foote
Fast over stocke and stone,
For the sheriffe with seven score men
Fast after him is gone. 60

One shoote now I will shoote, quoth John,[509]
With Christ his might and mayne;
Ile make yond fellow that flyes soe fast,
To stopp he shall be fayne.[510]

Then John bent up his long bende-bowe,[511] 65
And fetteled[512] him to shoote:
The bow was made of a tender boughe,
And fell downe to his foote.

Woe worth, woe worth thee, wicked wood,[513]
That ere thou grew on a tree; 70
For now this day thou art my bale,
My boote[514] when thou shold bee.

His shoote it was but loosely shott,
Yet flewe not the arrowe in vaine,[515]
For itt mett one of the sherriffes men, 75
Good William a Trent was slaine.

It had bene better of William a Trent
To have bene abed with sorrowe,[516]
Than to be that day in the green wood slade[517]
To meet with Little Johns arrowe.[518] 80

But as it is said, when men be mett
Fyve can doe more than three,[519]
The sheriffe hath taken little John,[520]
And bound him fast to a tree.

Thou shalt be drawen by dale and downe, 85
And hanged hye on a hill.
But thou mayst fayle of thy purpose, quoth John,[521]
If itt be Christ his will.[522]

Let us leave talking of Litle John,
And thinke of Robin Hood,[523] 90
How he is gone to the wight yeomàn,
Where under the leaves he stood.

Good morrowe, good fellowe, sayd Robin so fayre,[524]
"Good morrowe, good fellow, quoth he:"
Methinkes by this bowe thou beares in thy hande 95
A good archere thou sholdst bee.[525]

I am wilfull[526] of my waye, quo' the yeman,[527]
And of my morning tyde.
Ile lead thee through the wood, sayd Robin;
Good fellow, Ile be thy guide. 100

I seeke an outlàwe, the straunger sayd,[528]
Men call him Robin Hood;
Rather Ild meet with that proud outlàwe[529]
Than fortye pound soe good.[529]

[Now come with me, thou wighty yeman,[530] 105
And Robin thou soone shalt see:[530]
But first let us some pastime find[530]
Under the greenwood tree.][530]

First let us some masterye[531] make[532]
Among the woods so even,[532] 110
Wee may chance to meet with Robin Hood
Here att some unsett steven.[533]

They cutt them downe two summer shroggs,[534]
That grew both under a breere,[535]
And sett them threescore rood in twaine 115
To shoote the prickes[536] y-fere.[537]

Leade on, good fellowe, quoth Robin Hood,[538]
Leade on, I doe bidd thee.
Nay by my faith, good fellowe, hee sayd,[539]
My leader thou shalt bee.[540] 120

The first time Robin shot at the pricke,[541]
He mist but an inch it froe:[541]
The yeoman he was an archer good,[541]
But he cold never shoote soe.

The second shoote had the wightye yeman,[542] 125
He shote within the garlànde:[543]
But Robin he shott far better than hee,
For he clave the good pricke wande.[544]

A blessing upon thy heart, he sayd;[545]
Good fellowe, thy shooting is goode; 130
For an thy hart be as good as thy hand,
Thou wert better then Robin Hoode.

Now tell me thy name, good fellowe, sayd he,[546]
Under the leaves of lyne.[547]
Nay by my faith, quoth bolde Robìn,[548] 135
Till thou have told me thine.[549]

I dwell by dale and downe, quoth hee,
And Robin to take Ime sworne;
And when I am called by my right name
I am Guye of good Gisbòrne. 140

My dwelling is in this wood, sayes Robin,
By thee I set right nought:
I am Robin Hood of Barnèsdale,
Whom thou so long hast sought.[550]

He that had neither beene kithe nor kin, 145
Might have seene a full fayre sight,
To see how together these yeomen went
With blades both browne[551] and bright.

To see how these yeomen together they fought[552]
Two howres of a summers day: 150
Yett neither Robin Hood nor sir Guy[553]
Them fettled to flye away.

Robin was reachles[554] on a roote,
And stumbled at that tyde;
And Guy was quicke and nimble with-all, 155
And hitt him ore the left side.

Ah deere Lady, sayd Robin Hood, tho
That art both mother and may',[555]
I think it was never mans destinye
To dye before his day. 160

Robin thought on our ladye deere,
And soone leapt up againe,
And strait he came with a "backward" stroke,[556]
And he sir Guy hath slayne.[557]

He took sir Guys head by the hayre, 165
And sticked itt on his bowes end:
Thou hast beene a traytor all thy liffe,
Which thing must have an ende.

Robin pulled forth an Irish kniffe,
And nicked sir Guy in the face, 170
That he was never on woman born,
Cold tell whose head it was.[558]

Saies, Lye there, lye there, now sir Guye,[559]
And with me be not wrothe;
If thou have had the worse strokes at my hand, 175
Thou shalt have the better clothe.

Robin did off his gowne of greene,
And on sir Guy did it throwe,
And hee put on that capull hyde,
That cladd him topp to toe. 180

The bowe, the arrowes, and little horne,
Now with me I will beare;[560]
For I will away to Barnèsdale,
To see how my men doe fare.

Robin Hood sett Guyes home to his mouth, 185
And a loud blast in it did blow.
That beheard the sheriffe of Nottingham,
As he leaned under a lowe.[561]

Hearken, hearken, sayd the sheriffe,
I heare nowe tydings good, 190
For yonder I heare sir Guyes horne blowe,
And he hath slaine Robin Hoode.

Yonder I heare sir Guyes horne blowe,
Itt blowes soe well in tyde,
And yonder comes that wightye yeoman, 195
Cladd in his capull hyde.

Come hyther, come hyther, thou good sir Guy,
Aske what thou wilt of mee.
O I will none of thy gold, sayd Robin,[562]
Nor I will none of thy fee: 200

But now I have slaine the master, he sayes,
Let me go strike the knave;
This is all the rewarde I aske;
Nor noe other will I have.

Thou art a madman, said the sheriffe, 205
Thou sholdest have had a knights fee:
But seeing thy asking hath beene soe bad,
Well granted it shale be.

When Litle John heard his master speake,
Well knewe he it was his steven:[563] 210
Now shall I be looset, quoth Litle John,
With Christ his might in heaven.

Fast Robin hee hyed him to Little John,
He thought to loose him belive;[564]
The sheriffe and all his companye 215
Fast after him did drive.

Stand abacke, stand abacke, sayd Robin;
Why draw you mee soe neere?
Itt was never the use in our countryè,
Ones shrift another shold heere. 220

But Robin pulled forth an Irysh kniffe,
And losed John hand and foote,
And gave him sir Guyes bow into his hand,
And bade it be his boote.[565]

Then John he took Guyes bow in his hand,[566] 225
His boltes and arrowes eche one:
When the sheriffe saw Little John bend his bow,
He fettled him to be gone.

Towards his house in Nottingham towne,[567]
He fled full fast away; 230
And soe did all his companye:
Not one behind wold stay.

But he cold neither runne soe fast,[568]
Nor away soe fast cold ryde,[568]
But Litle John with an arrowe soe broad,[568] 235
He shott him into the 'backe'-syde.[568]

* * * * *

[***] The title of _Sir_ was not formerly peculiar to knights, it
was given to priests, and sometimes to very inferior personages.

Dr. Johnson thinks this title was applied to such as had taken
the degree of A. B. in the universities, who are still stiled,
_Domini_, "Sirs," to distinguish them from Undergraduates, who have
no prefix, and from Masters of Arts, who are stiled _Magistri_,
"Masters."

FOOTNOTES:

[480] See Thoresby's _Ducat. Leod._ p. 576. _Biog. Brit._ vi. 3933.

[481] Stukeley, in his _Palæographia Britannica_, No. II. 1746.

[482] See also the following ballad, v. 147.

[483] Num. D. 5. 2.

[484] _Old Plays_, 4to. K. vol. x.

[485] Ser. 6th before K. Ed. Apr. 12. fol. 75, Gilpin's _Life of Lat._, p. 122.

[486] [when woods are bright.]

[487] [twigs.]

[488] [Ver. 1. shales, f. MS.]

[489] [V. 4. birds singe, f. MS.]

[490] [woodpecker or thrush.]

[491] [V. 5. woodweete, f. MS.]

[492] [In place of ver. 6-12 between brackets the f. MS. has--

"Amongst the leaves a lyne
[* * * * *]
And it is by two wight yeomen
By deare God that I meane."]

[493] [faith.]

[494] [dream.]

[495] [strong.]

[496] [from me.]

[497] [revenged.]

[498] [dress ye, get ye ready.]

[499] [Ver. 28. a shooting gone are they, f. MS.]

[500] [were they aware.]

[501] [V. 34. had beene many a mans bane, f. MS.]

[502] [horse-hide.]

[503] [V. 40. to know his meaning trulye, f. MS.]

[504] [strange.]

[505] [V. 42. and thats a ffarley thinge, f. MS.]

[506] [breed mischief.]

[507] _i.e._ ways, passes, paths, ridings. _Gate_ is a common word in the north for _way_.

[508] [greensward between two woods.]

[509] [Ver. 61. yet one shoote I'le shoote, says Little John, f. MS.]

[510] [V. 64. to be both glad & ffaine, f. MS.]

[511] [V. 65. John bent up a good veiwe bowe, f. MS.]

[512] [prepared.]

[513] [V. 69. woe worth thee, wicked wood, says litle John, f. MS.]

[514] help.

[515] [Ver. 74. the arrowe flew in vaine, f. MS.]

[516] [V. 78. to hange upon a gallowe, f. MS.]

[517] [V. 79. then for to lye in the green-woode, f. MS.]

[518] [V. 80. there slaine with an arrowe, f. MS.]

[519] [V. 82. 6 can doe more then 3, f. MS.]

[520] [V. 83. and they have tane litle John, f. MS.]

[521] [V. 87. But thou may ffayle, quoth litle John, f. MS.]

[522] [V. 88. If itt be christ's own will, f. MS.]

[523] [V. 90-92. in place of these three verses the f. MS. has:--

"for hee is bound fast to a tree,
and talke of Guy and Robin Hood
In they green woode where they bee
[how these two yeomen together they mett
under the leaves of Lyne,
to see what marchandise they made
even at that same time."]]

[524] [Ver. 93. good morrow, good fellow! quoth Sir Guy, f. MS.]

[525] [V. 96. a good archer thou seems to bee, f. MS.]

[526] [ignorant.]

[527] [V. 97. quoth Sir Guye, f. MS.]

[528] [V. 101. I seeke an outlaw, quoth Sir Guye, f. MS.]

[529] [V. 103-4.--

"I had rather meet with him upon a day
Then 40li. of golde."]

[530] [V. 105-8. in place of these four verses the f. MS. has--

"Iff you tow mett itt wold be seene whether were better
afore yee did part awaye;
Let us some other pastime find,
good ffellow, I thee pray:"]

[531] [trial of skill.]

[532] [V. 109-10.

"Let us some other masteryes make,
and wee will walke in the woods even," f. MS.]

[533] [at a time not previously appointed.]

[534] [shrubs.]

[535] [briar.]

[536] [mark in the centre of the target.]

[537] [Ver. 116. prickes full near, f. MS.]

[538] [V. 117. sayd Sir Guye, f. MS.]

[539] [V. 119. nay by my faith, quoth Robin Hood, f. MS.]

[540] [V. 120. the leader, f. MS.]

[541] [V. 121-23:--

"the first good shoot that Robin ledd
did not shoote an inch the pricke ffroe.
Guy was an archer good enoughe."]

[542] [V. 125. the 2nd shoote Sir Guy shott.]

[543] [the ring within which the prick was set.]

[544] [pole.]

[545] [V. 129. gods blessing on thy heart! sayes Guye.]

[546] [Ver. 133. tell me thy name, good fellow, quoth Guy.]

[547] [lime.]

[548] [V. 135. good robin.]

[549] [V. 136-140:--

"I dwell by dale and downe, quoth Guye,
and I have done many a curst turne;
and he that calles me by my right name,
calles me Guy of good Gysborne."]

[550] V. 144. a ffellow thou hast long sought.

[551] The common epithet for a sword or other offensive weapon, in the old metrical romances is _Brown_, as "brown brand," or "brown sword," "brown bill," &c., and sometimes even "bright brown sword." Chaucer applies the word _rustie_ in the same sense; thus he describes the reve:--

"And by his side he bare a rusty blade."

_Prol._ ver. 620.

And even thus the God _Mars_:--

"And in his hand he had a rousty sword."

_Test. of Cressid._ 188

Spenser has sometimes used the same epithet. See Warton's _Observ._ vol. ii. p. 62. It should seem, from this particularity, that our ancestors did not pique themselves upon keeping their weapons bright: perhaps they deemed it more honourable to carry them stained with the blood of their enemies. [As the swords are here said to be bright as well as brown, they could not have been rusty. The expression nut-brown sword was used to designate a Damascus blade.]

[552] [Ver. 149. "to have seen how these yeomen together fought."]

[553] [V. 151-2:--

"itt was neither Guy nor Robin Hood
that ffettled them to flye away."]

[554] [careless.]

[555] [maid.]

[556] V. 163. awkwarde, MS.

[557] [V. 164. "good sir Guy hee has slayne," f. MS.]

[558] [Ver. 172. cold tell who Sir Guye was.]

[559] [V. 173. good Sir Guye.]

[560] [V. 182:--

"and with me now Ile beare
ffor now I will goe to Barnesdale," f. MS.]

[561] [small hill.]

[562] [Ver. 199:--

"Ile none of thy gold, sayes Robin Hood
nor Ile none of itt have," f. MS.]

[563] [voice.]

[564] [quickly.]

[565] [help.]

[566] [Ver. 225-8:--

"But John tooke Guyes bow in his hand,
his arrowes were rawstye by the roote;
the sherriffe saw little John draw a bow
and ffettle him to shoote."]

[567] [V. 229. Towards his house in Nottingham.]

[568] [V. 233-6:--

"But he cold neither soe fast goe,
nor away soe fast runn,
but litle John with an arrow broade
did cleave his head in twinn," f. MS.]

IX.

AN ELEGY ON HENRY FOURTH EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND.

The subject of this poem, which was written by _Skelton_, is the death of _Henry Percy_, fourth earl of Northumberland, who fell a victim to the avarice of Henry VII. In 1489 the parliament had granted the king a subsidy for carrying on the war in Bretagne. This tax was found so heavy in the North, that the whole country was in a flame. The E. of Northumberland, then lord lieutenant for Yorkshire, wrote to inform the king of the discontent, and praying an abatement. But nothing is so unrelenting as avarice: the king wrote back that not a penny should be abated. This message being delivered by the earl with too little caution, the populace rose, and, supposing him to be the promoter of their calamity, broke into his house, and murdered him, with several of his attendants, who yet are charged by Skelton with being backward in their duty on this occasion. This melancholy event happened at the earl's seat at Cocklodge, near Thirske, in Yorkshire, April 28, 1489. See Lord Bacon, &c.

If the reader does not find much poetical merit in this old poem (which yet is one of Skelton's best), he will see a striking picture of the state and magnificence kept up by our ancient nobility during the feudal times. This great earl is described here as having, among his menial servants, _knights_, _squires_, and even _barons_: see v. 32. 183. &c. which, however different from modern manners, was formerly not unusual with our greater barons, whose castles had all the splendour and offices of a royal court before the laws against retainers abridged and limited the number of their attendants.

_John Skelton_, who commonly styled himself Poet Laureat, died June 21, 1529. The following poem, which appears to have been written soon after the event, is printed from an ancient MS. copy preserved in the British Museum, being much more correct than that printed among _Skelton's Poems_ in bl. let. 12mo. 1568.--It is addressed to Henry Percy, fifth earl of Northumberland, and is prefaced, &c. in the following manner:

POETA SKELTON LAUREATUS LIBELLUM SUUM METRICE ALLOQUITUR.

Ad dominum properato meum mea pagina Percy,
Qui Northumbrorum jura paterna gerit,
Ad nutum celebris tu prona repone leonis,
Quæque suo patri tristia justa cano.
Ast ubi perlegit, dubiam sub mente volutet
Fortunam, cuncta quæ male fida rotat.
Qui leo sit felix, & Nestoris occupet annos;
Ad libitum cujus ipse paratus ero.

* * * * *

[Percy does not do justice to Skelton's poetical powers in the
above note, as this _Elegy_ is written in a style not at all
characteristic of him and is also far from being one of his best
poems. Skelton was one of the earliest personal satirists in our
language, and he flew at high game when he attacked the powerful
Wolsey with fierce invective, in his "Why come ye nat to courte?"
His _Boke of Phyllyp Sparrowe_ is described by Coleridge as "an
exquisite and original poem," and its subject entitles him to the
designation of the modern Catullus. It was very popular in his day,
and the nursery rhyme of _Who killed Cock robin?_ was probably
paraphrased from the portion of the poem in which the funeral of
the sparrow is related. Skelton was a distinguished scholar and his
earlier poems are written in the serious strain of the _Elegy_,
but curiously enough about the time that he took orders (1498)
and became rector of Diss in Norfolk, he began to write in a more
natural, frolicsome and satirical vein, and adopted the metre now
known as Skeltonian. He was not very particular as to the words he
used, but he does not deserve the opprobrious epithet that Pope
applies to him in the couplet--

"Chaucer's worst ribaldry is learned by rote,
And beastly Skelton heads of houses quote."

Skelton graduated as poet laureate at the two Universities
of Oxford and Cambridge, and the King allowed him to wear an
appropriate decoration at court. There is a full length portrait
of the poet in Brydges' _British Bibliographer_ (vol. iv. p. 389),
taken from one on the back of the title of _A ryght delectable
tratyse upon a goodly Garlande or Chaplet of Laurell by Mayster
Skelton, Poete laureat_.

The Rev. Alexander Dyce published the first complete collected
edition of Skelton's Poetical Works in 1843 (2 vols. 8vo.)]

* * * * *

SKELTON LAUREAT UPON THE DOLORUS DETHE AND MUCH LAMENTABLE CHAUNCE OF THE MOOST HONORABLE ERLE OF NORTHUMBERLANDE.

I wayle, I wepe, I sobbe, I sigh ful sore
The dedely fate, the dolefulle destenny
Of him that is gone, alas! withoute restore,
Of the blode[569] royall descendinge nobelly;
Whos lordshepe doutles was slayne lamentably 5
Thorow treson ageyn[570] hym compassyd and wrought;
Trew to his prince, in word, in dede, and thought.

Of hevenly poems, O Clyo calde by name
In the college of musis goddess hystoriall,
Adres the to me, whiche am both halt and lame 10
In elect uteraunce to make memoryall:
To the for soccour, to the for helpe I call
Myne homely rudnes and drighnes to expelle
With the freshe waters of Elyconys[571] welle.

Of noble actes auncyently enrolde, 15
Of famous princis and lordes of astate,[572]
By thy report ar wonte to be extold,
Regestringe trewly every formare date;
Of thy bountie after the usuall rate,
Kyndle in me suche plenty of thy noblès,[573] 20
Thes sorrowfulle dities that I may shew expres.

In sesons past who hathe harde or sene
Of formar writinge by any presidente
That vilane hastarddis[574] in ther furious tene,[575]
Fulfyld with malice of froward entente, 25
Confeterd[576] togeder of commoun concente
Falsly to slo[577] ther moste singular goode lorde?
It may be registerde of shamefull recorde.

So noble a man, so valiaunt lorde and knight,
Fulfilled with honor, as all the worlde dothe ken; 30
At his commaundement, whiche had both day and night
Knyghtis and squyers, at every season when
He calde upon them, as menyall houshold men:
Were no thes commones uncurteis karlis of kynde[578]
To slo their owne lorde? God was not in their minde. 35

And were not they to blame, I say also,
That were aboute hym, his owne servants of trust,
To suffre hym slayn of his mortall fo?
Fled away from hym, let hym ly in the dust:
They bode[579] not till the rekening were discust. 40
What shuld I flatter? what shulde I glose[580] or paynt?
Fy, fy for shame, their harts wer to faint.

In Englande and Fraunce, which gretly was redouted;[581]
Of whom both Flaunders and Scotland stode in drede;
To whome grete astates obeyde and lowttede;[582] 45
A mayny[583] of rude villayns made him for to blede:
Unkindly they slew hym, that holp them oft at nede:
He was their bulwark, their paves,[584] and their wall,
Yet shamfully they slew hym; that shame mot[585] them befal.

I say, ye commoners, why wer ye so stark mad? 50
What frantyk frensy fyll[586] in youre brayne?
Where was your wit and reson, ye shuld have had?
What willfull foly made yow to ryse agayne[587]
Your naturall lord? alas! I can not fayne.
Ye armed you with will, and left your wit behynd; 55
Well may you be called comones most unkynd.

He was your chyfteyne, your shelde, your chef defence,
Redy to assyst you in every tyme of nede:
Your worship[588] depended of his excellence:
Alas! ye mad men, to far ye did excede: 60
Your hap was unhappy, to ill was your spede:
What movyd you agayn hym to war or to fight?
What aylde you to sle your lord agyn all right?

The grounde of his quarel was for his sovereyn lord,
The welle concernyng of all the hole lande, 65
Demaundyng soche dutyes as nedis most acord
To the right of his prince which shold not be withstand;
For whos cause ye slew hym with your awne hande:
But had his nobill men done wel that day,
Ye had not been hable to have saide him nay. 70

But ther was fals packinge,[589] or els I am begylde:
How-be-it the matter was evident and playne,
For yf they had occupied[590] ther spere and ther shelde,
This noble man doutles had not be slayne.
Bot men say they wer lynked with a double chayn, 75
And held with the commouns under a cloke,
Whiche kindeled the wyld fyre that made all this smoke.

The commouns renyed[591] ther taxes to pay
Of them demaunded and asked by the kinge;
With one voice importune, they playnly said nay: 80
They buskt them on a bushment[592] themself in baile[593] to bringe:
Agayne the kings plesure to wrastle or to wringe,[594]
Bluntly as bestis withe boste[595] and with cry
They saide, they forsede[596] not, nor carede not to dy.

The noblenes of the northe this valiant lorde and knyght, 85
As man that was innocent of trechery or trayne,
Presed forthe boldly to witstand the myght,
And, lyke marciall Hector, he fauht them agayne,
Vigorously upon them with myght and with mayne,
Trustinge in noble men that wer with hym there: 90
Bot all they fled from hym for falshode or fere.

Barons, knights, squyers, one and alle,
Togeder with servaunts of his famuly,
Turnid their backis, and let ther master fall,
Of whos [life] they counted not a flye; 95
Take up whos wolde for them, they let hym ly.
Alas! his golde, his fee, his annuall rente
Upon suche a sort[597] was ille bestowde and spent.

He was envyronde aboute on every syde
Withe his enemys, that were stark mad and wode;[598] 100
Yet whils he stode he gave them woundes wyde:
Alas for routhe![599] what thouche his mynde were goode,
His corage manly, yet ther he shed his bloode!
All left alone, alas! he fawte in vayne;
For cruelly amonge them ther he was slayne. 105

Alas for pite! that Percy thus was spylt,[600]
The famous erle of Northumberlande:
Of knightly prowès the sworde pomel and hylt,
The myghty lyoun[601] doutted[602] by se and lande!
O dolorous chaunce of fortuns fruward hande! 110
What man remembring how shamfully he was slayne,
From bitter weepinge hymself kan restrayne?

O cruell Mars, thou dedly god of war!
O dolorous teusday, dedicate to thy name,
When thou shoke thy sworde so noble a man to mar! 115
O grounde ungracious, unhappy be thy fame,
Whiche wert endyed with rede blode of the same!
Moste noble erle! O fowle mysuryd[603] grounde
Whereon he gat his fynal dedely wounde!

O Atropos, of the fatall systers thre, 120
Goddes mooste cruell unto the lyf of man,
All merciles, in the ys no pitè!
O homycide, whiche sleest[604] all that thou kan,
So forcibly upon this erle thow ran,
That with thy sworde enharpid[605] of mortall drede, 125
Thou kit[606] asonder his perfight[607] vitall threde!

My wordis unpullysht be nakide and playne,
Of aureat[608] poems they want ellumynynge;[609]
Bot by them to knoulege ye may attayne
Of this lordis dethe and of his murdrynge. 130
Which whils he lyvyd had fuyson[610] of every thing,
Of knights, of squyers, chef lord of toure and toune,
Tyl fykkill[611] fortune began on hym to frowne.

Paregall[612] to dukis, with kings he myght compare,
Surmountinge in honor all erls he did excede, 135
To all cuntreis aboute hym reporte[613] me I dare.
Lyke to Eneas benygne in worde and dede,
Valiaunt as Hector in every marciall nede,
Provydent, discrete, circumspect, and wyse, 139
Tyll the chaunce ran agyne him of fortunes duble dyse.

What nedethe me for to extoll his fame
With my rude pen enkankerd all with rust?
Whos noble actis shew worsheply his name,
Transcendyng far myne homely muse, that must
Yet sumwhat wright supprisid with hartly lust,[614] 145
Truly reportinge his right noble astate,
Immortally whiche is immaculate.

His noble blode never disteynyd was,
Trew to his prince for to defende his right,
Doublenes hatinge, fals maters to compas, 150
Treytory[615] and treson he bannesht out of syght,
With trowth to medle was all his hole delyght,
As all his kuntrey kan testefy the same:
To slo suche a lord, alas, it was grete shame.

If the hole quere[616] of the musis nyne 155
In me all onely wer sett and comprisyde,
Enbrethed with the blast of influence dyvyne,
As perfightly as could be thought or devysyd;
To me also allthouche it were promysyde
Of laureat Phebus holy the eloquence, 160
All were to litill for his magnyficence.

O yonge lyon, bot tender yet of age,[617]
Grow and encrese, remembre thyn astate,
God the assyst unto thyn herytage,
And geve the grace to be more fortunate, 165
Agayne rebellyouns arme to make debate.
And, as the lyoune, whiche is of bestis kinge,
Unto thy subjectis be kurteis and benyngne.

I pray God sende the prosperous lyf and long,
Stabille thy mynde constant to be and fast, 170
Right to mayntein, and to resist all wronge:
All flattringe faytors[618] abhor and from the cast,
Of foule detraction God kepe the from the blast:
Let double delinge in the have no place,
And be not light of credence in no case. 175

Wythe hevy chere, with dolorous hart and mynd,
Eche man may sorrow in his inward thought,
Thys lords death, whose pere is hard to fynd
Allgyf[619] Englond and Fraunce were thorow saught.
Al kings, all princes, all dukes, well they ought 180
Bothe temporall and spirituall for to complayne
This noble man, that crewelly was slayne.

More specially barons, and those knygtes bold,
And all other gentilmen with hym enterteynd
In fee, as menyall men of his housold, 185
Whom he as lord worsheply manteynd:
To sorowfull weping they ought to be constreynd,
As oft as thei call to ther remembraunce,
Of ther good lord the fate and dedely chaunce.

O perlese prince of hevyn emperyalle, 190
That with one worde formed al thing of noughte;
Hevyn, hell, and erth obey unto thi kall;
Which to thy resemblance wondersly hast wrought
All mankynd, whom thou full dere hast boght,
With thy blode precious our finaunce[620] thou dyd pay, 195
And us redemed, from the fendys pray;[621]

To the pray we, as prince incomperable,
As thou art of mercy and pite the well,
Thou bringe unto thy joye etermynable[622]
The sowle of this lorde from all daunger of hell, 200
In endles blis with the to byde and dwell
In thy palace above the orient,
Where thou art lorde, and God omnipotent.

O quene of mercy, O lady full of grace,
Maiden moste pure, and goddis moder dere, 205
To sorowfull harts chef comfort and solace,
Of all women O floure withouten pere,
Pray to thy son above the starris clere,
He to vouchesaf by thy mediatioun
To pardon thy servant, and bringe to salvacion. 210

In joy triumphaunt the hevenly yerarchy,[623]
With all the hole sorte[624] of that glorious place,
His soule mot[625] receyve into ther company
Thorowe bounte of hym that formed all solace:
Well of pite, of mercy, and of grace, 215
The father, the son, and the holy goste
In Trinitate one God of myghts moste.

* * * * *

[+±+] I have placed the foregoing poem of _Skelton's_ before the
following extract from _Hawes_, not only because it was written
first, but because I think _Skelton_ is in general to be considered
as the earlier poet; many of his poems being written long before
_Hawes's Graunde Amour_.

FOOTNOTES:

[569] The mother of Henry, first Earl of Northumberland, was Mary daughter to Henry E. of Lancaster, whose father Edmond was second son of K. Henry III.--The mother and wife of the second Earl of Northumberland were both lineal descendants of K. Edward III.--The _Percys_ also were lineally descended from the Emperour Charlemagne and the ancient Kings of France, by his ancestor Josceline de Lovain (son of Godfrey Duke of Brabant), who took the name of _Percy_ on marrying the heiress of that house in the reign of Hen. II. Vid. Camden _Britan._, Edmondson, &c.

[570] [against.]

[571] [Helicons.]

[572] [estate.]

[573] [nobleness.]

[574] [rough fellows.]

[575] [wrath.]

[576] [confederated.]

[577] [slay.]

[578] [churls by nature.]

[579] [abode.]

[580] [gloss over.]

[581] [dreaded.]

[582] [crouched.]

[583] [a number.]

[584] [large shield.]

[585] [may.]

[586] [fell.]

[587] [against.]

[588] [honour.]

[589] [false dealing.]

[590] [used.]

[591] [refused.]

[592] [they prepared themselves for an ambush.]

[593] [trouble.]

[594] [contend.]

[595] [pride.]

[596] [heeded.]

[597] [set.]

[598] [wild.]

[599] [pity.]

[600] [destroyed.]

[601] Alluding to his crest and supporters. _Doutted_ is contracted for _redoubted_.

[602] [dreaded.]

[603] [misused, applied to a bad purpose.]

[604] [slayest.]

[605] [hooked or edged.]

[606] [cut.]

[607] [perfect.]

[608] [golden.]

[609] [embellishing.]

[610] [abundance.]

[611] [fickle.]

[612] [equal.]

[613] [refer.]

[614] [overpowered with hearty desire.]

[615] [treachery.]

[616] [whole choir.]

[617] [the earl's son was only eleven years old at the time of his father's death.]

[618] [deceivers.]

[619] [although.]

[620] [fine or forfeiture.]

[621] [prey of the fiends.]

[622] [interminable.]

[623] [hierarchy.]

[624] [whole company.]

[625] [may.]

X.

THE TOWER OF DOCTRINE.

The reader has here a specimen of the descriptive powers of _Stephen Hawes_, a celebrated poet in the reign of Hen. VII. tho' now little known. It is extracted from an allegorical poem of his (written in 1505.) intitled, _The History of Graunde Amoure and La Bel Pucell, called the Pastime of Pleasure, &c._ 4to. 1555. See more of Hawes in _Ath. Ox._ v. 1. p. 6. and Warton's _Observ._ v. 2. p. 105. He was also author of a book, intitled, _The Temple of Glass. Wrote by Stephen Hawes, gentleman of the bedchamber to K. Henry VII._ Pr. for Caxton, 4to. no date.

The following Stanzas are taken from Chap. III. and IV. of the Hist. above-mentioned. "How Fame departed from Graunde Amoure and left him with Governaunce and Grace, and how he went to the Tower of Doctrine, &c."--As we are able to give no small lyric piece of Hawes's, the reader will excuse the insertion of this extract.

* * * * *

[Most readers will probably be satisfied with the seventy-four
lines that Percy has extracted from Hawes's long didactic poem,
but those who wish to read the whole will find it reprinted by
Mr. Thomas Wright in the fifteenth volume of the Percy Society's
publications. The account of Rhetorick and the other allegorical
nullities is weary reading, but the chapter in commendation of
Gower, Chaucer and the author's master Lydgate, "the chefe orygynal
of my lernyng," is interesting from a literary point of view. The
poem was very popular in its own day and passed through several
editions, and it has found admirers among critics of a later
age. The Rev. Dr. Hodgson in a letter to Percy, dated Sept. 22,
1800,[626] speaks of it in very extravagant terms, and regrets that
it had not then found an editor, as he regarded it "as one of the
finest poems in our own or any other language." Warton describes
Hawes as the only writer deserving the name of a poet in the reign
of Henry VII. and says that "this poem contains no common touches
of romantic and allegoric fiction." Mr. Wright however looks at it
as "one of those allegorical writings which were popular with our
forefathers, but which can now only be looked upon as monuments of
the bad taste of a bad age." Hawes was a native of Suffolk, but
the dates of his birth and death are not known. He studied in the
University of Oxford and afterwards travelled much, becoming "a
complete master of the French and Italian poetry."]

* * * * *

CAP. III.

* * * * *
I loked about and saw a craggy roche,
Farre in the west, neare to the element,
And as I dyd then unto it approche,
Upon the toppe I sawe refulgent
The royal tower of MORALL DOCUMENT, 5
Made of fine copper with turrettes fayre and hye,
Which against Phebus shone so marveylously,

That for the very perfect bryghtnes
What of the tower, and of the cleare sunne,
I could nothyng behold the goodlines 10
Of that palaice, whereas Doctrine did wonne:[627]
Tyll at the last, with mysty wyndes donne,
The radiant brightnes of golden Phebus
Auster gan cover with clowde tenebrus.[628]

Then to the tower I drewe nere and nere, 15
And often mused of the great hyghnes
Of the craggy rocke, which quadrant did appeare:
But the fayre tower, so much of ryches
Was all about, sexangled doubtles;
Gargeyld[629] with grayhoundes, and with manylyons, 20
Made of fyne golde; with divers sundry dragons.[630]

The little turrets with ymages of golde
About was set, whiche with the wynde aye moved.
Wyth propre vices,[631] the I did well beholde
About the towers, in sundry wyse they hoved[632] 25
With goodly pypes, in their mouthes i-tuned,
That with the wynde they pyped a daunce,
I-clipped[633] _Amour de la hault plesaunce_.

CAP. IV.

The toure was great and of marvelous wydnes,
To whyche ther was no way to passe but one, 30
Into the toure for to have an intres:[634]
A grece[635] there was y-chesyled all of stone
Out of the rocke, on whyche men dyd gone
Up to the toure, and in lykewyse dyd I
Wyth bothe the Grayhoundes in my company:[636] 35

Tyll that I came unto a ryall gate,
Where I sawe stondynge the goodly Portres,
Whiche axed me, from whence I came a-late?
To whome I gan in every thynge expresse
All myne adventure, chaunce, and busynesse, 40
And eke my name; I tolde her every dell:
Whan she herde this, she lyked me right well.

Her name, she sayd, was called COUNTENAUNCE;
Into the besy[637] courte she dyd me then lede,
Where was a fountayne depured[638] of pleasance, 45
A noble sprynge, a ryall conduyte hede,
Made of fyne golde enameled with reed;
And on the toppe four dragons blewe and stoute
Thys dulcet water in foure partyes dyd spout.

Of whyche there flowed foure ryvers ryght clere, 50
Sweter than Nylus[639] or Ganges was theyr odoure;
Tygrys or Eufrates unto them no pere:
I dyd than taste the aromatyke lycoure,
Fragraunt of fume, swete as any floure;
And in my mouthe it had a marveylous cent[640] 55
Of divers spyces, I knewe not what it ment.

And after thys farther forth me brought
Dame Countenaunce into a goodly Hall,
Of jasper stones it was wonderly wrought:
The wyndowes cleare depured all of crystall, 60
And in the roufe on hye over all
Of golde was made a ryght crafty vyne;
In stede of grapes the rubies there did shyne.

The flore was paved with berall clarified,
With pillers made of stones precious, 65
Like a place of pleasure so gayely glorified,
It myght be called a palaice glorious,
So muche delectable and solacious;[641]
The hall was hanged hye and circuler
With cloth of arras in the rychest maner. 70

That treated well of a ful noble story,
Of the doubty waye to the Tower Perillous;[642]
Howe a noble knyght should wynne the victory
Of many a serpente fowle and odious.
* * * * *

FOOTNOTES:

[626] Nichols' _Illustrations of Literature_, vol viii. p. 344.

[627] [dwell.]

[628] [dark.]

[629] [from gargoyle the spout of a gutter.]

[630] Greyhounds, Lions, Dragons, were at that time the royal supporters.

[631] [devices.]

[632] [heaved.]

[633] [called.]

[634] [entrance.]

[635] [a flight of steps.]

[636] This alludes to a former part of the Poem.

[637] [busy. Percy reads base or lower court.]

[638] [purified.]

[639] Nysus. _PC._

[640] [scent.]

[641] [affording solace.]

[642] The story of the poem.

XI.

THE CHILD OF ELLE,

Is given from a fragment in the Editor's folio MS. which, tho' extremely defective and mutilated, appeared to have so much merit, that it excited a strong desire to attempt a completion of the story. The Reader will easily discover the supplemental stanzas by their inferiority, and at the same time be inclined to pardon it, when he considers how difficult it must be to imitate the affecting simplicity and artless beauties of the original.

_Child_ was a title sometimes given to a knight.

* * * * *

[The _Child of Ell_, as it appears in the folio MS., is a fragment
without beginning or ending, so that Percy was forced to add some
verses in order to fit it for his book, but the above note does not
give any adequate notion of his contributions to the ballad. The
verses that are entirely due to the bishop's pen are placed between
brackets, and it will be seen from the copy of the original printed
at the end that the remaining thirty lines are much altered from
it. It is unfortunate that Percy's taste was not sufficient to save
him from adding sentimental verses so out of character with the
directness of the original as--

"Fair Emmeline sighed, fair Emmeline wept,
And aye her heart was woe:
At length he seized her lilly-white hand,
And downe the ladder he drewe."

On the other hand, the poem as it stands is certainly elegant, and
Sir Walter Scott was justified in his high praise when he pointed
out the beauty of verses 181-184.

"The baron he stroked his dark brown cheek,
And turned his head aside
To wipe away the starting tear,
He proudly strave to hide."

Scott published a ballad called "Erlinton" for the first time
in his _Border Minstrelsy_, which he says "seems to be the rude
original, or perhaps a corrupt and imperfect copy of _The Child of
Elle_."

The original fragment from the MS. is worth reading for its own
sake as a genuine antique, which must outweigh in interest all
manufactured imitations.]

* * * * *

[On yonder hill a castle standes
With walles and towres bedight,[643]
And yonder lives the Child of Elle,
A younge and comely knighte.

The Child of Elle to his garden wente, 5
And stood at his garden pale,
Whan, lo! he beheld fair Emmelines page
Come trippinge downe the dale.

The Child of Elle he hyed him thence,
Y-wis he stoode not stille, 10
And soone he mette faire Emmelines page
Come climbing up the hille.

Nowe Christe thee save, thou little foot-page,
Now Christe thee save and see!
Oh telle me how does thy ladye gaye, 15
And what may thy tydinges bee?

My lady shee is all woe-begone,
And the teares they falle from her eyne;
And aye she laments the deadlye feude
Betweene her house and thine. 20

And here shee sends thee a silken scarfe
Bedewde with many a teare,
And biddes thee sometimes thinke on her,
Who loved thee so deare.

And here shee sends thee a ring of golde 25
The last boone thou mayst have,
And biddes thee weare it for her sake,
Whan she is layde in grave.

For, ah! her gentle heart is broke,
And in grave soone must shee bee, 30
Sith her father hath chose her a new new love,
And forbidde her to think of thee.

Her father hath brought her a carlish[644] knight,
Sir John of the north countràye,
And within three dayes shee must him wedde, 35
Or he vowes he will her slaye.

Nowe hye thee backe, thou little foot-page,
And greet thy ladye from mee,
And telle her that I her owne true love
Will dye, or sette her free. 40

Nowe hye thee backe, thou little foot-page,
And let thy fair ladye know
This night will I bee at her bowre-windòwe,
Betide me weale or woe.

The boye he tripped, the boye he ranne, 45
He neither stint ne stayd
Untill he came to fair Emmelines bowre,
Whan kneeling downe he sayd,

O ladye, I've been with thy own true love,
And he greets thee well by mee; 50
This night will he bee at thy bowre-windòwe,
And dye or sette thee free.

Nowe daye was gone, and night was come,
And all were fast asleepe,
All save the ladye Emmeline, 55
Who sate in her bowre to weepe:

And soone shee heard her true loves voice
Lowe whispering at the walle,
Awake, awake, my deare ladyè,
Tis I thy true love call. 60

Awake, awake, my ladye deare,
Come, mount this faire palfràye:
This ladder of ropes will lette thee downe,
Ile carrye thee hence awaye.

Nowe nay, nowe nay, thou gentle knight, 65
Nowe nay, this may not bee;
For aye shold I tint my maiden fame,
If alone I should wend with thee.

O ladye, thou with a knighte so true
Mayst safelye wend alone, 70
To my ladye mother I will thee bringe,
Where marriage shall make us one.

"My father he is a baron bolde,
Of lynage proude and hye;
And what would he saye if his daughtèr 75
Awaye with a knight should fly?

Ah! well I wot, he never would rest,]
Nor his meate should doe him no goode,
Until he had slayne thee, Child of Elle,
And seene thy deare hearts bloode." 80

O ladye, wert thou in thy saddle sette,
And a little space him fro,
I would not care for thy cruel fathèr,
Nor the worst that he could doe.

O ladye, wert thou in thy saddle sette, 85
And once without this walle,
I would not care for thy cruel fathèr,
Nor the worst that might befalle.

[Faire Emmeline sighed, fair Emmeline wept,
And aye her heart was woe: 90
At length he seized her lilly-white hand,
And downe the ladder he drewe:

And thrice he clasped her to his breste,
And kist her tenderlìe:
The teares that fell from her fair eyes, 95
Ranne like the fountayne free.]

Hee mounted himselfe on his steede so talle,
And her on a fair palfràye,
And slung his bugle about his necke,
And roundlye they rode awaye. 100

[All this beheard her owne damsèlle,
In her bed whereas shee ley,
Quoth shee, My lord shall knowe of this,
Soe I shall have golde and fee.

Awake, awake, thou baron bolde! 105
Awake, my noble dame!
Your daughter is fledde with the Child of Elle,
To doe the deede of shame.

The baron he woke, the baron he rose,
And called his merrye men all: 110
"And come thou forth, Sir John the knighte,
Thy ladye is carried to thrall."[645]]

Faire Emmeline scant had ridden a mile,
A mile forth of the towne,
When she was aware of her fathers men 115
Come galloping over the downe:

[And foremost came the carlish knight,
Sir John of the north countràye:
"Nowe stop, nowe stop, thou false traitòure,
Nor carry that ladye awaye. 120

For she is come of hye lineàge,
And was of a ladye borne,
And ill it beseems thee a false churl's sonne
To carrye her hence to scorne."]

Nowe loud thou lyest, Sir John the knight, 125
Nowe thou doest lye of mee;
A knight mee gott, and a ladye me bore,
Soe never did none by thee.

But light nowe downe, my ladye faire,
Light downe, and hold my steed, 130
While I and this discourteous knighte
Doe trye this arduous deede.

But light now downe, my deare ladyè,
Light downe, and hold my horse;
While I and this discourteous knight 135
[Doe trye our valour's force.

Fair Emmeline sighed, fair Emmeline wept,
And aye her heart was woe,
While twixt her love and the carlish knight
Past many a baleful blowe. 140

The Child of Elle hee fought soe well,
As his weapon he waived amaine,
That soone he had slaine the carlish knight,
And layd him upon the plaine.

And nowe the baron, and all his men 145
Full fast approached nye:
Ah! what may ladye Emmeline doe?
Twere nowe no boote[646] to flye.

Her lover he put his horne to his mouth,
And blew both loud and shrill, 150
And soone he saw his owne merry men
Come ryding over the hill.