A gentleman of good account In Norfolk dwelt of late, Who did in honour far surmount Most men of his estate.

Sore sick he was, and like to die, No help his life could save; His wife by him as sick did lie, And both possest one grave.

No love between these two was lost, Each was to other kind, In love they liv'd, in love they died, And left two babes behind:

The one a fine and pretty boy, Not pa.s.sing three yeares old; The other a girl more young than he, And fram'd in beauty's mould.

The father left his little son, As plainly doth appeare, When he to perfect age should come, Three hundred pounds a yeare.

And to his little daughter Jane Five hundred pounds in gold, To be paid down on marriage-day, Which might not be controll'd: But if the children came to die, Ere they to age should come, Their uncle should possesse their wealth; For so the will did run.

Now, brother, said the dying man, Look to my children dear; Be good unto my boy and girl, No friends else have they here: To G.o.d and you I recommend My children dear this daye; But little while be sure we have Within this world to stay.

You must be father and mother both, And uncle all in one; G.o.d knows what will become of them, When I am dead and gone.

With that bespake their mother dear, O brother kind, quoth she, You are the man must bring our babes To wealth or miserie:

And if you keep them carefully, Then G.o.d will you reward; But if you otherwise should deal, G.o.d will your deeds regard.

With lips as cold as any stone, They kist their children small: G.o.d bless you both, my children dear; With that the tears did fall.

These speeches then their brother spake To this sick couple there, The keeping of your little ones, Sweet sister, do not feare; G.o.d never prosper me nor mine, Nor aught else that I have, If I do wrong your children dear, When you are laid in grave.

The parents being dead and gone, The children home he takes, And brings them straite unto his house, Where much of them he makes.

He had not kept these pretty babes A twelvemonth and a day, But, for their wealth, he did devise To make them both away.

He bargain'd with two ruffians strong, Which were of furious mood, That they should take these children young, And slay them in a wood.

He told his wife an artful tale, He would the children send To be brought up in fair Londn, With one that was his friend.

Away then went those pretty babes, Rejoycing at that tide, Rejoycing with a merry mind, They should on c.o.c.k-horse ride.

They prate and prattle pleasantly, As they rode on the way, To those that should their butchers be, And work their lives' decay:

So that the pretty speech they had, Made Murder's heart relent; And they that undertook the deed, Full sore did now repent.

Yet one of them, more hard of heart, Did vow to do his charge, Because the wretch, that hired him, Had paid him very large.

The other won't agree thereto, So here they fall to strife; With one another they did fight, About the children's life: And he that was of mildest mood, Did slay the other there, Within an unfrequented wood; The babes did quake for fear!

He took the children by the hand, Tears standing in their eye, And bade them straightway follow him, And look they did not cry: And two long miles he led them on, While they for food complain: Stay here, quoth he, I'll bring you bread, When I come back again.

The pretty babes, with hand in hand, Went wandering up and down; But never more could see the man Approaching from the town; Their pretty lips with black-berries, Were all besmear'd and dyed, And when they saw the darksome night, They sat them down and cryed.

Thus wandered these poor innocents, Till death did end their grief, In one another's arms they died, As wanting due relief: No burial this pretty pair Of any man receives, Till Robin-redbreast piously Did cover them with leaves.

And now the heavy wrath of G.o.d Upon their uncle fell; Yea, fearful fiends did haunt his house, His conscience felt an h.e.l.l: His barns were fir'd, his goods consum'd, His lands were barren made; His cattle died within the field, And nothing with him stayd.

And in a voyage to Portugal Two of his sons did die; And to conclude, himself was brought To want and misery: He p.a.w.n'd and mortgaged all his land Ere seven years came about.

And now at length this wicked act Did by this means come out:

The fellow, that did take in hand These children for to kill, Was for a robbery judg'd to die, Such was G.o.d's blessed will: Who did confess the very truth, As here hath been display'd: Their uncle having died in gaol, Where he for debt was laid.

You that executors be made, And overseers eke, Of children that be fatherless, And infants mild and meek; Take you example by this thing, And yield to each his right, Lest G.o.d with such like misery Your wicked minds requite.

ROBIN HOOD AND THE PINDER OF WAKEFIELD

In Wakefield there lives a jolly pinder, In Wakefield, all on a green;

'There is neither knight nor squire,' said the pinder, 'Nor baron that is so bold, Dare make a trespa.s.se to the town of Wakefield, But his pledge goes to the pinfold.'

All this beheard three witty young men, 'Twas Robin Hood, Scarlet, and John; With that they spied the jolly pinder, As he sate under a thorn.

'Now turn again, turn again,' said the pinder, 'For a wrong way have you gone; For you have forsaken the king his highway, And made a path over the corn.'

'Oh, that were great shame,' said jolly Robin, 'We being three, and thou but one': The pinder leapt back then thirty good foot, 'Twas thirty good foot and one.

He leaned his back fast unto a thorn, And his foot unto a stone, And there he fought a long summer's day, A summer's day so long, Till that their swords, on their broad bucklers, Were broken fast unto their hands.

'Hold thy hand, hold thy hand,' said Robin Hood, 'And my merry men every one; For this is one of the best pinders That ever I try'd with sword.

'And wilt thou forsake thy pinder his craft, And live in the green wood with me?'

'At Michaelmas next my covenant comes out, When every man gathers his fee; I'le take my blew blade all in my hand, And plod to the green wood with thee.'

'Hast thou either meat or drink,' said Robin Hood, 'For my merry men and me?'

'I have both bread and beef,' said the pinder, 'And good ale of the best'; 'And that is meat good enough,' said Robin Hood, 'For such unbidden guest.

'O wilt thou forsake the pinder his craft And go to the green wood with me?

Thou shalt have a livery twice in the year, The one green, the other brown shall be.'

'If Michaelmas day were once come and gone, And my master had paid me my fee, Then would I set as little by him As my master doth set by me.'

THE NUT-BROWN MAID

_He._ Be it right or wrong, these men among On women do complain; Affirming this, how that it is A labour spent in vain, To love them well; for never a deal They love a man again: For let a man do what he can, Their favour to attain, Yet, if a new do them pursue, Their first true lover then Laboureth for nought; for from their thought He is a banished man.

_She._ I say not nay, but that all day It is both written and said, That woman's faith is, as who saith, All utterly decayed; But, nevertheless, right good witness In this case might be laid, That they love true, and continue: Record the Nut-brown Maid: Which, when her love came, her to prove, To her to make his moan, Would not depart; for in her heart She loved but him alone.

_He._ Then between us let us discuss What was all the manner Between them two: we will also Tell all the pain, and fear, That she was in. Now I begin, So that ye me answer; Wherefore, all ye, that present be, I pray you give an ear.

'I am the knight; I come by night, As secret as I can; Saying, alas! thus standeth the case, I am a banished man.'