33.

'I gae you a steed was good in need, An' a saddle o' royal bone, A leash o' hounds o' ae litter, An' Hector called one.'

34.

It was well kent what the lady said, That it wasnae a lee, For at ilka word the lady spake, The hound fell at her knee.

35.

'Tak hame, tak hame your daughter dear, A blessing gae her wi', For I maun marry my Burd Isbel, That's come o'er the sea to me.'

36.

'Is this the custom o' your house, Or the fashion o' your lan', To marry a maid in a May mornin', An' send her back at even?'

[Annotations: 4.1: 'borrow,' ransom.

6.1,2: 'but ... ben,' out ... in.

7.3: 'stown,' stolen.

8.3: 'rottons,' rats.

15.2: The MS. reads 'How y you.'

16.3: 'marys,' maids.

29.1: 'bierly,' stately.]

OLD ROBIN OF PORTINGALE

+Text.+-- The Percy Folio is the sole authority for this excellent ballad, and the text of the MS. is therefore given here _literatim_, in preference to the copy served up 'with considerable corrections' by Percy in the _Reliques_. I have, however, substituted a few obvious emendations suggested by Professor Child, giving the Folio reading in a footnote.

+The Story+ is practically identical with that of _Little Musgrave and Lady Barnard_; but each is so good, though in a different vein, that neither could be excluded.

The last stanza narrates the practice of burning a cross on the flesh of the right shoulder when setting forth to the Holy Land--a practice which obtained only among the very devout or superstitious of the Crusaders.

Usually a cross of red cloth attached to the right shoulder of the coat was deemed sufficient.

OLD ROBIN OF PORTINGALE

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 Maior's daughter of Lin, God wott, He chose her to his wife, & 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 she rose, & forth shee goes To Sir Gyles, & 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 master's steed, Soe ... ... ...

His verry heart did bleed;

8.

He mourned, sikt, & wept full sore; I sweare by the holy roode, The teares he for his master wept Were blend water & bloude.

9.

With that beheard his deare master As in his garden sate; Sayes, '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 or tomorrow ere it be noone, You are deemed to die;

13.

'& of that thanke your head steward, & 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 kooke's man: 'Cooke, in kitchen super to dresse': 'All & anon, my deare master, Anon att your request.'

16.

'& call you downe my faire Lady, This night to supp with mee.'

17.

& downe then came that fayre Lady, Was cladd all in purple & 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 me?'

'I am sicke, fayre Lady, Sore sicke, & like to dye.'