III.

ROBIN HOOD AND THE BEGGAR.

This poem, a North-country (or perhaps Scotish) composition of some antiquity, is given from a modern copy printed at Newcastle, where it was accidentally picked up: no other edition having been ever seen or heard of. The corruptions of the press being equally numerous and minute, some of the most trifling have been corrected without notice. But it may be proper to mention that each line of the printed copy is here thrown into two: a step which, though absolutely necessary from the narrowness of the page, is sufficiently justified by the frequent recurrence of the double rime. The division of stanzas was conceived to be a still further improvement.—The original title is, “A Pretty Dialogue betwixt Robin Hood and a Beggar.”

A similar story (“Comment un moine se débarasse des voleurs”) may be found in “Le Moyen de Parvenir,” i. 304 (edit. 1739). {98}

Lyth and listen, gentlemen, That be of high born blood, I’ll tell you of a brave bootìng That befell Robin Hood.

Robin Hood upon a day, He went forth him alone, And as he came from Barnsdale Into fair evenìng,

He met a beggar on the way, Who sturdily could gang ; He had a pike-staff in his hand That was both stark and strang ;

A clouted clock about him was, That held him frae the cold, The thinnest bit of it, I guess, Was more than twenty fold.

His meal-poke hang about his neck, Into a leathern whang, Well fasten’d to a broad bucle, That was both stark and ‘strang.’

He had three hats upon his head, Together sticked fast, He car’d neither for wind nor wet, In lands where’er[258] he past. {99}

Good Robin cast him in the way, To see what he might be, If any beggar had monèy, He thought some part had he.

Tarry, tarry, good Robin says, Tarry, and speak with me. He heard him as he heard him not, And fast on his way can hy.

’Tis be not so, says [good] Robìn, Nay, thou must tarry still. By my troth, said the bold beggàr, Of that I have no will.

It is far to my lodging house, And it is growing late, If they have supt e’er I come in I will look wondrous blate.

Now, by my truth, says good Robìn, I see well by thy fare, If thou shares well to thy suppèr, Of mine thou dost not care,

Who wants my dinner all this day And wots not where to ly, And would I to the tavern go, I want money to buy. {100}

Sir, you must lend me some monèy Till we meet again. The beggar answer’d cankardly, I have no money to lend :

Thou art a young man as I, And seems to be as sweer ; If thou fast till thou get from me, Thou shalt eat none this year.

Now, by my truth, says [good] Robìn, Since we are assembled so, If thou hast but a small farthìng, I’ll have it e’er thou go.

Come, lay down thy clouted cloak, And do no longer stand, And loose the strings of all thy pokes, I’ll ripe them with my hand.

And now to thee I make a vow, If ‘thou’ make any din, I shall see a broad arròw, Can pierce a beggar’s skin.

The beggar smil’d, and answer made, Far better let me be ; Think not that I will be afraid, For thy nip crooked tree ; {101}

Or that I fear thee any whit, For thy curn nips of sticks, I know no use for them so meet As to be puding-pricks.

Here I defy thee to do me ill, For all thy boisterous fair, Thou’s get nothing from me but ill, Would’st thou seek evermair.

Good Robin bent his noble bow, He was an angery man, And in it set a broad arròw ; Lo ! e’er ’twas drawn a span,

The beggar, with his noble tree, Reach’d him so round a rout, That his bow and his broad arròw In flinders flew about.

Good Robin bound him to his brand, But that prov’d likewise vain, The beggar lighted on his hand With his pike-staff again :

[I] wot he might not draw a sword For forty days and mair. Good Robin could not speak a word, His heart was ne’er so sair. {102}

He could not fight, he could not flee, He wist not what to do ; The beggar with his noble tree Laid lusty slaps him to.

He paid good Robin back and side, And baist him up and down, And with his pyke-staff laid on loud, Till he fell in a swoon.

Stand up, man, the beggar said, ’Tis shame to go to rest ; Stay till thou get thy money told, I think it were the best :

And syne go to the tavern house, And buy both wine and ale ; Hereat thy friends will crack full crouse, Thou hast been at the dale.

Good Robin answer’d ne’er a word, But lay still as a stane ; His cheeks were pale as any clay, And closed[259] were his een.

The beggar thought him dead but fail, And boldly bound his way.— I would ye had been at the dale, And gotten part of the play. {103}

THE SECOND PART.

Now three of Robin’s men, by chance, Came walking by the way, And found their master in a trance, On ground where that he lay.

Up have they taken good Robìn, Making a piteous bear, Yet saw they no man there at whom They might the matter spear.

They looked him all round about, But wound on him saw ‘nane,’ Yet at his mouth came bocking out The blood of a good vain.

Cold water they have gotten syne, And cast unto his face ; Then he began to hitch his ear, And speak within short space.

Tell us, dear master, said his men, How with you stands the case. Good Robin sigh’d e’er he began To tell of his disgrace. {104}

“I have been watchman in this wood Near hand this twenty year, Yet I was never so hard bestead As ye have found me here ;

A beggar with a clouted clock, Of whom I fear’d no ill Hath with his pyke-staff cla’d my back, I fear ’twill never be well.

See, where he goes o’er yon hill, With hat upon his head ; If e’er ye lov’d your master well, Go now revenge this deed ;

And bring him back again to me, If it lie in your might, That I may see, before I die, Him punish’d in my sight :

And if you may not bring him back, Let him not go loose on ; For to us all it were great shame If he escape again.”

“One of us shall with you remain, Because you’re ill at ease, The other two shall bring him back, To use him as you please.” {105}

Now, by my truth, says good Robìn, I true there’s enough said ; And he get scouth to wield his tree, I fear you’ll both be paid.

“Be not fear’d, our mastèr, That we two can be dung With any bluter base beggàr, That has nought but a rung.

His staff shall stand him in no stead, That you shall shortly see, But back again he shall be led, And fast bound shall he be, To see if ye will have him slain, Or hanged on a tree.”

“But cast you sliely in his way, Before he be aware, And on his pyke-staff first hands lay, Ye’ll speed the better far.”

Now leave we Robin with this man, Again to play the child, And learn himself to stand and gang By halds, for all his eild.

Now pass we to the bold beggàr, That raked o’er the hill, Who never mended his pace more, Then he had done no ill. {106}

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . And they have taken another way,[260] Was nearer by miles three.

They stoutly ran with all their might, Spared neither dub ‘nor’ mire, They started at neither how nor height, No travel made them tire,

Till they before the beggar wan, And cast them in his way ; A little wood lay in a glen, And there they both did stay ;

They stood up closely by a tree, In each side of the gate, Untill the beggar came them nigh, That thought of no such late :

And as he was betwixt them past, They leapt upon him baith ; The one his pyke-staff gripped fast, They feared for its skaith.

The other he held in his sight A drawen durk to his breast, And said, False ‘carel,’ quit thy staff, Or I shall be thy priest. {107}

His pyke-staff they have taken him frae, And stuck it in the green, He was full loath to let it gae, An better might it been.

The beggar was the feardest man Of any that e’er might be, To win away no way he can, Nor help him with his tree.

Nor wist he wherefore he was ta’en, Nor how many was there ; He thought his life days had been gane, He grew into dispair.

Grant me my life, the beggar said, For him that dy’d on the tree, And hold away that ugly knife, Or else for fear I’ll die.

I griev’d you never in all my life, Neither by late or air, You have great sin if you would slay A silly poor beggàr.

Thou lies, false lown, they said again, For all that may be sworn ; Thou hast ‘near’ slain the gentlest man Of one that e’er was born ; {108}

And back again thou shall be led, And fast bound shalt thou be, To see if he will have thee slain, Or hanged on a tree.

The beggar then thought all was wrong, They were set for his wrack, He saw nothing appearing then But ill upon warse back.

Were he out of their hands, he thought, And had again his tree, He should not be led back for nought, With such as he did see.

Then he bethought him on a wile, If it could take effect, How he might the young men beguile, And give them a begeck.[261]

Thus to do them shame for ill His beastly breast was bent, He found the wind blew something shrill, To further his intent.

He said, Brave gentlemen, be good, And let a poor man be : When ye have taken a beggar’s blood, It helps you not a flee. {109}

It was but in my own defence, If he has gotten skaith ; But I will make a recompence Is better for you baith.

If ye will set me fair and free, And do me no more dear, An hundred pounds I will you give, And much more odd silvèr,

That I have gather’d this many years, Under this clouted cloak, And hid up wonder privately, In bottom of my poke.

The young men to the council yeed,[262] And let the beggar gae ; They wist full well he had no speed From them to run away.

They thought they would the money take, Come after what so may ; And yet they would not take him back, But in that place him slay.

By that good Robin would not know That they had gotten coin, It would content him [well] to show That there they had him slain, {110}

They said, False carel, soon have done, And tell forth thy monèy, For the ill turn that thou hast done It’s but a simple plee.

And yet we will not have thee back, Come after what so may, If thou will do that which thou spak,[263] And make us present pay.

O then he loosed his clouted clock, And spread it on the ground, And thereon lay he many a poke, Betwixt them and the wind.

He took a great bag from his hals,[264] It was near full of meal, Two pecks in it at least there was, And more, I wot full well.

Upon this cloak he set it down, The mouth he opened wide, To turn the same he made him bown,[265] The young men ready spy’d ;

In every hand he took a nook Of that great leathren ‘mail,’[266] And with a fling the meal he shook Into their face all hail : {111}

Wherewith he blinded them so close, A stime they could not see ; And then in heart he did rejoice, And clap’d his lusty tree.

He thought if he had done them wrong, In mealing of their cloaths,[267] For to strike off the meal again With his pyke-staff he goes.

E’er any of them could red their een, Or a glimmring might see, Ilke one of them a dozen had, Well laid on with his tree.

The young men were right swift of foot, And boldly bound away, The beggar could them no more hit, For all the haste he may.

What’s all this haste ? the beggar said, May not you[268] tarry still, Untill your money be received ? I’ll pay you with good will.

The shaking of my pokes, I fear, Hath blown into your een ; But I have a good pyke-staff here Can ripe them out full clean. {112}

The young men answered never a word, They were dum as a stane ; In the thick wood the beggar fled, E’er they riped their een :

And syne the night became so late, To seek him was in vain : But judge ye if they looked blate When they cam home again.

Good Robin speer’d how they had sped.[269] They answered him, Full ill. That can not be, good Robin says, Ye have been at the mill.

The mill it is a meat-rife part, They may lick what they please, Most like ye have been at the art, Who would look at your ‘claiths.’[270]

They hang’d their heads, they drooped down, A word they could not speak. Robin said, Because I fell a-sound, I think ye’ll do the like.

Tell on the matter, less or more, And tell me what and how Ye have done with the bold beggàr I sent you for right now. {113}

And when they told him to an end, As i have said before, How that the beggar did them blind, What ‘mister’ presses more ?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . And how in the thick woods he fled, E’er they a stime could see ;

And how they scarcely could win home, Their bones were baste so sore ; Good Robin cry’d, Fy ! out ! for shame ! We’re sham’d for evermore.

Altho good Robin would full fain Of his wrath revenged be, He smil’d to see his merry young men Had gotten a taste of the tree.

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{114}

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