Reliques of Ancient English Poetry consisting of Old Heroic Ballads, Songs, and other Pieces of our earlier Poets, (Chiefly of the Lyric kind.) Together with some few of later Date |
 | 1. |
| 2. |
 | 3. |
| 3. |
| I. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. | VIII. OLD SIR ROBIN OF PORTINGALE. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| II. |
| III. |
 | Reliques of Ancient English Poetry |  |
VIII. OLD SIR ROBIN OF PORTINGALE.
Let never again soe old a man
Marrye soe yonge a wife,
As did old ‘sir’ Robin of Portingale;
Who may rue all the dayes of his life.
Marrye soe yonge a wife,
As did old ‘sir’ 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,
And thought with her to have lived in love,
But they fell to hate and strife.
He chose her to his wife,
And thought with her to have lived in love,
But they fell to hate and strife.
49
They scarce were in their wed-bed laid,
And scarce was hee asleepe,
But upp she rose, and forth shee goes,
To the steward, and gan to weepe.
And scarce was hee asleepe,
But upp she rose, and forth shee goes,
To the steward, and gan to weepe.
Sleepe you, wake you, faire sir Gyles?
Or be you not withinn?
Sleepe you, wake you, faire sir Gyles,
Arise and let me inn.
Or be you not withinn?
Sleepe you, wake you, faire sir Gyles,
Arise and let me inn.
O, I am waking, sweete, he said,
Sweete ladye, what is your wille?
I have bethought me of a wyle
How my wed-lord weell spille.
Sweete ladye, what is your wille?
I have bethought me of a wyle
How my wed-lord weell spille.
Twenty-four good knights, shee sayes,
That dwell about this towne,
Even twenty-four of my near cozèns,
Shall helpe to ding him downe.
That dwell about this towne,
Even twenty-four of my near cozèns,
Shall helpe to ding him downe.
All this beheard his litle footepage,
As he watered his masters steed;
And for his masters sad perìlle
His verry heart did bleed.
As he watered his masters steed;
And for his masters sad perìlle
His verry heart did bleed.
He mourned, sighed, and wept full sore:
I sweare by the holy roode
The teares he for his master wept
Were blent water and bloode.
I sweare by the holy roode
The teares he for his master wept
Were blent water and bloode.
50
All that beheard his deare mastèr
As he stood at his garden pale:
Sayes, Ever alacke, my litle foot-page,
What causes thee to wail?
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 ‘one’ of thy good friends dead,
That thou shedst manye a teare?
Any of thy fellowes here?
Or is any ‘one’ 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.
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 doomed to die are yee.
Nor none of his degree:
But ‘on’ to-morrow ere it be noone
All doomed to die are yee.
And of that bethank your head stewàrd,
And thank your gay ladèe.
If this be true, my litle foot-page,
The heyre of my land thoust bee.
And thank your gay ladèe.
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 bee not true, thou litle foot-page,
A dead corse shalt thou lie.
No good death let me die.
If it bee not true, thou litle foot-page,
A dead corse shalt thou lie.
51
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.
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 fingèrs,
Cast light throughout the hall.
All clad in purple and pall:
The rings that were on her fingèrs,
Cast light throughout 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.
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 mee:
But my five maydens and myselfe
Will make the bedde for thee:
Soe sore it grieveth mee:
But my five maydens and myselfe
Will make the bedde for thee:
And at the waking of your first sleepe,
We will a hot drinke make:
And at the waking of your first sleepe,
Your sorrowes we will slake.
We will a hot drinke make:
And at the waking of your first 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.
And mail of manye a fold:
And hee putt a steele cap on his head,
Was gilt with good red gold.
52
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 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 man,
The leader of that ginn.
Came twentye-four traitours inn:
Sir Giles he was the foremost man,
The leader of that ginn.
The old knight with his bright browne sword,
Sir Gyles head soon did winn:
And scant of all those twenty-foure,
Went out one quick agenn.
Sir Gyles head soon did winn:
And scant of all those twenty-foure,
Went out one quick agenn.
None save only a litle foot page,
Crept forth at a window of stone:
And he had two armes when he came in,
And he went back with one.
Crept forth at a window of stone:
And he had two armes when he came in,
And he went back with one.
Upp then came that ladie gaye
With torches burning bright:
She thought to have brought sir Gyles a drinke,
Butt she found her owne wedd knight.
With torches burning bright:
She thought to have brought sir Gyles a drinke,
Butt she found her owne wedd knight.
The first thinge that she stumbled on
It was sir Gyles his foote:
Sayes, Ever alacke, and woe is mee!
Here lyes my sweete hart-roote.
It was sir Gyles his foote:
Sayes, Ever alacke, and woe is mee!
Here lyes my sweete hart-roote.
53
The next thinge that she stumbled on
It was sir Gyles his heade:
Sayes, Ever, alacke, and woe is me!
Heere lyes my true love deade.
It was sir Gyles his heade:
Sayes, Ever, alacke, and woe is me!
Heere lyes my true love deade.
Hee cutt the pappes beside her brest,
And did her body spille;
He cutt the eares beside her heade,
And bade her love her fille.
And did her body spille;
He cutt the eares beside her heade,
And bade her love her fille.
He called then up his litle foot-page,
And made him there his heyre;
And sayd henceforth my worldlye goodes
And countrye I forsweare.
And made him there his heyre;
And sayd henceforth my worldlye goodes
And countrye I forsweare.
He shope the crosse on his right shouldèr,
Of the white ‘clothe’ and the redde ,
And went him into the holy land,
Whereas Christ was quicke and deade.
Of the white ‘clothe’ and the redde ,
And went him into the holy land,
Whereas Christ was quicke and deade.
Every person, who went on a Croisade to the Holy Land, usually wore a cross on his upper garment, on the right shoulder, as a badge of his profession. Different nations were distinguished by crosses of different colours: The English wore white; the French red; &c. This circumstance seems to be confounded in the ballad. [Vide Spelmanns Glossar. Chambers Dict. &c.]
| Reliques of Ancient English Poetry | |