Classic Poem

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.

ffor the Maiors daughter of Lin, god wott,
he chose her to his wife,
& thought to haue liued in quiettnesse
w i th her all the dayes of his liffe.

they had not in their wed bed laid,
scarely were both on sleepe,
but vpp shee rose, & forth shee goes
to S i r Gyles, & fast can weepe,

Saies, " sleepe you, wake you, faire S i r Gyles,
or be not you w i thin? "
" but I am waking, sweete, " he said,
" Lady, what is yo u r will? "
" I haue vnbethought me of a wile,
how my wed Lord we shall spill

" 24 knights, " she sayes,
" tha t dwells about this towne,
eene 24 of my Next Cozens,
will helpe to dinge him downe. "

w i th tha t beheard his litle foote page,
as he was watering his M aster s steed,
Soe s . . . . . . . .
his verry heart did bleed;

he mourned, sist, & wept full sore;
I sweare by the holy roode,
the teares he for his Master wept
were blend water & bloude.

w i th tha t beheard his deare M aster
as in his garden sate,
says, " euer alacke my litle page!
what causes thee to weepe?

" hath any one done to thee wronge,
any of thy fellowes here,
or is any of thy good friends dead
w hi ch makes thee shed such teares?

" or if it be my head bookes man,
greiued againe he shalbe,
nor noe man w i thin my howse
shall doe wrong vnto thee. "

" but it is not yo u r head bookes man,
nor none of his degree,
but or to morrow, ere it be Noone,
you are deemed to die;

" & of that thanke yo u r head Steward,
& after yo u r gay Ladie. "
" If it be true, my litle foote page,
Ile make thee heyre of all my land. "

" if it be not true, my deare M aster ,
god let me neuer dye. "
" if it be not true, thou litle foot page,
a dead corse shalt thou be. "

he called downe his head kookes man,
cooke in kitchen sup er to dresse:
" all & anon, my deare M aster ,
anon att yo u r request. "
" & call you downe my faire Lady,
this night to supp w i th mee. "

& downe then came tha t fayre Lady,
was cladd all in purple & palle,
the rings tha t were vpon her fingers
cast light thorrow the hall

" what is yo u r will, my owne wed Lo rd ,
what is yo u r will w i th mee? "
" I am sicke, fayre Lady,
Sore sicke, & like to dye. "

" but & you be sicke, my owne wed Lo rd ,
soe sore it greiueth mee,
but my 5 maydens & my selfe
will goe & make yo u r bedd,

" & at the wakening of yo u r first sleepe,
you shall haue a hott drinke Made,
& at the wakening of yo u r first sleepe
yo u r sorrowes will haue a slake. "

he put a silke cote on his backe,
was 13 inches folde,
& put a steele cap vpon his head,
was gilded w i th good red gold;

& he layd a bright browne sword by his side,
& another att his ffeete,
& full well knew old Robin then
whether he shold wake or sleepe.

& about the Middle time of the Night
came 24 good knights in,
S i r Gyles he was the formost man,
soe well he knew tha t ginne.

Old Robin w i th a bright browne sword
S i r Gyles head he did winne,
Soe did he all those 24,
neu er a one went quicke out [agen;]

none but one litle foot page
crept forth at a window of stone,
& he had 2 armes when he came in
And [when he went out he had none].

Vpp then came tha t Ladie bright
w i th torches burning light;
shee thought to haue brought S i r Gyles a drinke,
but shee found her owne wedd K nigh t,

& the first thinge tha t this Ladye stumbled vpon,
was of S i r Gyles his ffoote,
sayes, " euer alacke, & woe is me,
heere lyes my sweete hart roote! "

& the 2 d . thing tha t this Ladie stumbled on,
was of S i r Gyles his head,
sayes, " euer alacke, & woe is me,
heere lyes my true loue deade! "

hee cutt the papps beside he[r] brest,
& bad her wish her will,
& he cutt the eares beside her heade,
& bade her wish on still.

" Mickle is the mans blood I haue spent
to doe thee & and me some good, "
sayes, " euer alacke, my fayre Lady,
I thinke tha t I was woode! "

he calld then vp his litle foote page,
& made him heyre of all his land,
& he shope the crosse in his right sholder
of the white flesh & the redd
& he sent him into the holy land
wheras Christ was quicke & dead. "