Percy Manuscript, p. 90; Hales and Furnivall, I, 235.
1 |
God let neuer soe old a man
Marry soe yonge a wiffe
As did Old Robin of Portingale;
He may rue all the dayes of his liffe. |
2 |
Ffor the maiors daughter of Lin, God wott,
He chose her to his wife,
And thought to haue liued in quiettnesse
With her all the dayes of his liffe. |
3 |
They had not in their wed-bed laid,
Scarcly were both on sleepe,
But vpp shee rose, and forth shee goes
To Sir Gyles, and fast can weepe. |
4 |
Saies, Sleepe you, wake you, faire Sir Gyles?
Or be not you within?
. . . . .
. . . . . |
5 |
'But I am waking, sweete,' he said,
'Lady, what is your will?'
'I haue vnbethought me of a wile,
How my wed lord we shall spill. |
6 |
'Four and twenty knights,' she sayes,
'That dwells about this towne,
Eene four and twenty of my next cozens,
Will helpe to dinge him downe.' |
7 |
With that beheard his litle foote-page,
As he was watering his masters steed;
Soe s . . . . .
His verry heart did bleed. |
8 |
He mourned, sikt, and wept full sore;
I sweare by the holy roode,
That teares he for his master wept
Were blend water and bloude. |
9 |
With that beheard his deare master,
As [he] in his garden sate;
Says, Euer alacke, my litle page,
What causes thee to weepe? |
10 |
'Hath any one done to thee wronge,
Any of thy fellowes here?
Or is any of thy good friends dead,
Which makes thee shed such teares? |
11 |
'Or if it be my head-kookes-man,
Greiued againe he shalbe,
Nor noe man within my howse
Shall doe wrong vnto thee.' |
12 |
'But it is not your head-kookes-man,
Nor none of his degree;
But [f]or to morrow, ere it be noone,
You are deemed to die. |
13 |
'And of that thanke your head-steward,
And after, your gay ladie:'
'If it be true, my litle foote-page,
Ile make thee heyre of all my land.' |
14 |
'If it be not true, my deare master,
God let me neuer thye:'
'If it be not true, thou litle foot-page,
A dead corse shalt thou be.' |
15 |
He called downe his head-kookes-man,
Cooke in kitchen super to dresse:
'All and anon, my deare master,
Anon att your request.' |
16 |
. . . . .
. . . . .
'And call you downe my faire lady,
This night to supp with mee.' |
17 |
And downe then came that fayre lady,
Was cladd all in purple and palle;
The rings that were vpon her fingers
Cast light thorrow the hall. |
18 |
'What is your will, my owne wed lord,
What is your will with mee?'
'I am sicke, fayre lady,
Sore sicke, and like to dye.' |
19 |
'But and you be sicke, my owne wed lord,
Soe sore it greiueth mee;
But my fiue maydens and my selfe
Will goe and make your bedd. |
20 |
'!and at the wakening of your first sleepe
You shall haue a hott drinke made,
And at the wakening of your next sleepe
Your sorrowes will haue a slake.' |
21 |
He put a silke cote on his backe,
Was thirteen inches folde,
And put a steele cap vpon his head,
Was gilded with good red gold. |
22 |
And he layd a bright browne sword by his side,
And another att his feete,
And full well knew Old Robin then
Whether he shold wake or sleepe. |
23 |
And about the middle time of the night
Came twenty four good knights in;
Sir Gyles he was the formost man,
Soe well he knew that ginne. |
24 |
Old Robin, with a bright browne sword,
Sir Gyles head he did winne;
Soe did he all those twenty four,
Neuer a one went quicke out [agen]. |
25 |
None but one litle foot-page,
Crept forth at a window of stone,
And he had two armes when he came in,
And [when he went out he had none]. |
26 |
Vpp then came that ladie light,
With torches burning bright;
Shee thought to haue brought Sir Gyles a drinke,
But shee found her owne wedd knight. |
27 |
And the first thinge that this ladye stumbled vpon
Was of Sir Gyles his foote;
Sayes, Euer alacke, and woe is me,
Here lyes my sweete hart-roote! |
28 |
And the second thing that this ladie stumbled on
Was of Sir Gyles his head;
Sayes, Euer alacke, and woe is me,
Heere lyes my true-loue deade! |
29 |
Hee cutt the papps beside he[r] brest,
And bad her wish her will;
And he cutt the eares beside her heade,
And bade her wish on still. |
30 |
'Mickle is the mans blood I haue spent,
To doe thee and me some good;'
Sayes, Euer alacke, my fayre lady,
I think that I was woode! |
31 |
He calld then vp his litle foote-page,
And made him heyre of all his land,
. . . . .
. . . . . |
32 |
And he shope the crosse in his right sholder,
Of the white flesh and the redd,
And he went him into the holy land,
Wheras Christ was quicke and dead. |