And when he came to the ladies chamber

He thrild upon a pinn. *

The lady was true of her promise,

Rose up and lett him in.

He did not take the lady gaye

35

40

To boulster nor to bed:

'Nor thoughe hee had his wicked wille,
A single word he sed.'

He did not kisse that ladyes mouthe,
Nor when he came, nor youd:
And sore mistrusted that ladye gay,
He was of some churls bloud.

But home then came that lither ladd,
And did off his hose and shoone;
And cast the coller from off his necke:
He was but a churlès sonne.

"Awake, awake, my deere master,
The cock hath well-nigh crowen,
Awake, awake, my master deere,
I hold it time to be gone.

For I have saddled your horsse, master,
Well bridled I have your steede :

And I have served you a good breakfast:
For thereof ye have need."

Up then rose, good Glasgeriòn,
And did on hose and shoone ;

And cast a coller about his necke:
For he was a kinge his sonne.

And when he came to the ladyes chamber,
He thrild upon the pinne:

*This is elsewhere expressed 'twirled the pin' or 'tirled at the pin' [see B. ii. S. vi. v. 3.] and seems to refer to the turning round the button on the outside of a door, by which the latch rises, still used in cottages.

The ladye was more than true of promise,
And rose and let him inn.

Saies, "whether have you left with me
Your bracelett or your glove?
Or are you returned backe againe
To know more of my love?"
Glasgèrion swore a full great othe,
By oake, and ashe, and thorne ;
"Lady, I was never in your chambèr,
Sith the time that I was borne."

"O then it was your lither foot-page,

He hath beguiled mee."

Then shee pulled forth a litle pen-kniffe,

That hanged by her knee :

Sayes, "there shall never noe churlès blood

Within my bodye spring:

No churles blood shall ever defile

But if I have not killed a man to night
Jacke, thou hast killed three."

And he puld out his bright browne sword,
And dryed it on his sleeve,

And he smote off that lither ladds head,
Who did his ladye grieve.

95

He sett the swords poynt till his brest,
The pummil untill a stone:

Throw the falsenesse of that lither ladd,
These three lives werne all gone.

Ver. 77. litle. MS.

100

VIII

OLD ROBIN OF PORTINGALE.

FROM an ancient copy in the editor's folio MS. which was judged to require considerable corrections.

In the former edition the hero of this piece had been called Sir Robin, but that title not being in the MS. is now omitted.

LET never again soe old a man
Marrye soe yonge a wife,

As did old Robin of Portingale ;

Who may rue all the dayes of his life.

For the mayors daughter of Lin, god wott,
He chose her to his wife,

5

Ver.

And thought with her to have lived in love,
But they fell to hate and strife.

They scarce were in their wed-bed laid,

And scarce was hee asleepe,
But upp shee rose, and forth shee goes,
To the steward, and gan to weepe.

Sleepe you, wake you, faire sir Gyles?
Or be you not within ?

Sleepe you, wake you, faire sir Gyles,
Arise, and let me inn."

"O, I am waking, sweete," he said,
"Sweete ladye, what is your will?"
"I have unbethought me of a wile
How my wed-lord weell spill.

10

15

19. unbethought," [properly "onbethought " this word is still used in the Midland counties in the same sense as "bethought."

Twenty-four good knights," shee sayes,
"That dwell about this towne,
Even twenty-four of my next cozèns,
Will helpe to dinge him downe.”

All that beheard his litle footepage,
As he watered his masters steed;
And for his masters sad perille
His verry heart did bleed.

He mourned still, and wept full sore;
I sweare by the holy roode.
The teares he for his master wept
Were blent water and bloude.

And that beheard his deare mastèr
As he stood at his garden pale :
Sayes, "Ever alacke, my litle foot-page,
What causes thee to wail ?

Hath any one done to thee wronge
Any of thy fellowes here?
Or is any of thy good friends dead,
That thou shedst manye a teare?

Or, if it be my head bookes-man,
Aggrieved he shal bee:

For no man here within my howse,
Shall doe wrong unto thee."

"O, it is not your head bookes-man,
Nor none of his degree :

But, on to-morrow ere it be noone
All deemed to die are yee.

And of that bethank your head steward,
And thank your gay ladie."
"If this be true, my litle foot-page,
The heyre of my land thoust bee."

"If it be not true, my dear mastèr,
No good death let me die.'

"If it be not true, thou litle foot-page,

A dead corse shalt thou lie.

Ver. 32. blend. MS. Ver. 47. or to-morrow. MS. Ver. 56. bee. MS.

O call now downe my faire ladye,
O call her downe to mee:

And tell my ladye gay how sicke,
And like to die I bee."

Downe then came his ladye faire,
All clad in purple and pall:
The rings that were on her fingers,
Cast light thorrow the hall.

"What is your will, my owne wed-lord?
What is your will with mee?"

"O see, my ladye deere, how sicke, And like to die I bee.'

"And thou be sicke, my own wed-lord, Soe sore it grieveth me :

But my five maydens and myselfe

Will watch thy' bedde for thee:

And at the waking of your first sleepe,
We will a hott drinke make :

And at the waking of your next' sleepe,
Your sorrowes we will slake."

He put a silk cote on his backe,

And mail of manye a fold:

And hee putt a steele cap on his head,
Was gilt with good red gold.

He layd a bright browne sword by his side,
And another att his feete :

And twentye good knights he placed at hand,
To watch him in his sleepe.'

And about the middle time of the night,
Came twentye-four traitours inn :
Sir Giles he was the foremost mau,
The leader of that ginn.

Old Robin with his bright browne sword,
Sir Gyles head soon did winn :

And scant of all those twenty-four,
Went out one quick agenn.

Ver. 72. make the. MS.

Ver. 75. first. MS