Classic Poem

Now three of Robin's men, by chance,
Came walking by the way,
And found their master in a trance,
On ground where that he lay.

Up have they taken good Robin,
Making a piteous bear,
Yet saw they no man there at whom
They might the matter spear.

They looked him all round about,
But wound on him saw " nane,"
Yet at his mouth came bocking out
The blood of a good vain.

Cold water they have gotten syne,
And cast unto his face;
Then he began to hitch his ear,
And speak within short space.

Tell us, dear master, said his men,
How with you stands the case.
Good Robin sigh'd e'er he began
To tell of his disgrace.

" I have been watchman in this wood
Near hand this twenty year,
Yet I was never so hard bestead
As ye have found me here;

A beggar with a clouted clock,
Of whom I fear'd no ill
Hath with his pyke-staff cla'd my back,
I fear 'twill never be well.

See, where he goes o'er yon hill,
With hat upon his head;
If e'er ye lov'd your master well,
Go now revenge this deed;

And bring him back again to me,
If it lie in your might,
That I may see, before I die,
Him punish'd in my sight:

And if you may not bring him back,
Let him not go loose on;
For to us all it were great shame
If he escape again. "

" One of us shall with you remain,
Because you're ill at ease,
The other two shall bring him back,
To use him as you please. "

Now, by my truth, says good Robin,
I true there's enough said;
And he get scouth to wield his tree,
I fear you'll both be paid.

" Be not fear'd, our master,
That we two can be dung
With any bluter base beggar,
That has nought but a rung.

His staff shall stand him in no stead,
That you shall shortly see,
But back again he shall be led,
And fast bound shall he be,
To see if ye will have him slain,
Or hanged on a tree. "

" But cast you sliely in his way,
Before he be aware,
And on his pyke-staff first hands lay,
Ye'll speed the better far. "

Now leave we Robin with this man,
Again to play the child,
And learn himself to stand and gang
By halds, for all his eild.

Now pass we to the bold beggar,
That raked o'er the hill,
Who never mended his pace more,
Then he had done no ill.

. . . . . .
. . . . . . .
And they have taken another way,
Was nearer by miles three.

They stoutly ran with all their might,
Spared neither dub " nor" mire,
They started at neither how nor height,
No travel made them tire,

Till they before the beggar wan,
And cast them in his way;
A little wood lay in a glen,
And there they both did stay;

They stood up closely by a tree,
In each side of the gate,
Untill the beggar came them nigh,
That thought of no such late:

And as he was betwixt them past,
They leapt upon him baith;
The one his pyke staff gripped fast,
They feared for its skaith.

The other he held in his sight
A drawen durk to his breast,
And said, False " carel," quit thy staff,
Or I shall be thy priest.

His pyke-staff they have taken him frae,
And stuck it in the green,
He was full loath to let it gae,
An better might it been.

The beggar was the feardest man
Of any that e'er might be,
To win away no way he can,
Nor help him with his tree.

Nor wist he wherefore he was ta'en,
Nor how many was there;
He thought his life days had been gane,
He grew into dispair.

Grant me my life, the beggar said,
For him that dy'd on the tree,
And hold away that ugly knife,
Or else for fear I'll die.

I griev'd you never in all my life,
Neither by late or air,
You have great sin if you would slay
A silly poor beggar.

Thou lies, false lown, they said again,
For all that may be sworn;
Thou hast " near" slain the gentlest man
Of one that e'er was born;

And back again thou shall be led,
And fast bound shalt thou be,
To see if he will have thee slain,
Or hanged on a tree.

The beggar then thought all was wrong,
They were set for his wrack,
He saw nothing appearing then
But ill upon warse back.

Were he out of their hands, he thought,
And had again his tree,
He should not be led back for nought,
With such as he did see.

Then he bethought him on a wile,
If it could take effect,
How he might the young men beguile,
And give them a begeck.

Thus to do them shame for ill
His beastly breast was bent,
He found the wind blew something shrill,
To further his intent.

He said, Brave gentlemen, be good,
And let a poor man be:
When ye have taken a beggar's blood,
It helps you not a flee.

It was but in my own defence,
If he has gotten skaith;
But I will make a recompence
Is better for you baith.

If ye will set me fair and free,
And do me no more dear,
An hundred pounds I will you give,
And much more odd silver,

That I have gather'd this many years,
Under this clouted cloak,
And hid up wonder privately,
In bottom of my poke.

The young men to the council yeed,
And let the beggar gae;
They wist full well he had no speed
From them to run away.

They thought they would the money take,
Come after what so may;
And yet they would not take him back,
But in that place him slay.

By that good Robin would not know
That they had gotten coin,
It would content him [well] to show
That there they had him slain,

They said, False carel, soon have done,
And tell forth thy money,
For the ill turn that thou hast done
It's but a simple plee.

And yet we will not have thee back,
Come after what so may,
If thou will do that which thou spak,
And make us present pay.

O then he loosed his clouted clock,
And spread it on the ground,
And thereon lay he many a poke,
Betwixt them and the wind.

He took a great bag from his hals,
It was near full of meal,
Two pecks in it at least there was,
And more, I wot full well.

Upon this cloak he set it down,
The mouth he opened wide,
To turn the same he made him bown,
The young men ready spy'd;

In every hand he took a nook
Of that great leathren " mail,"
And with a fling the meal he shook
Into their face all hail:

Wherewith he blinded them so close,
A stime they could not see;
And then in heart he did rejoice,
And clap'd his lusty tree.

He thought if he had done them wrong,
In mealing of their cloaths,
For to strike off the meal again
With his pyke-staff he goes.

E'er any of them could red their een,
Or a glimmring might see,
Ilke one of them a dozen had,
Well laid on with his tree.

The young men were right swift of foot,
And boldly bound away,
The beggar could them no more hit,
For all the haste he may.

What's all this haste? the beggar said,
May not you tarry still,
Untill your money be received?
I'll pay you with good will.

The shaking of my pokes, I fear,
Hath blown into your een;
But I have a good pyke-staff here
Can ripe them out full clean.

The young men answered never a word,
They were dum as a stane;
In the thick wood the beggar fled,
E'er they riped their een:

And syne the night became so late,
To seek him was in vain:
But judge ye if they looked blate
When they cam home again.

Good Robin speer'd how they had sped.
They answered him, Full ill.
That can not be, good Robin says,
Ye have been at the mill.

The mill it is a meat-rife part,
They may lick what they please,
Most like ye have been at the art,
Who would look at your " claiths."

They hang'd their heads, they drooped down,
A word they could not speak.
Robin said, Because I fell a-sound,
I think ye'll do the like.

Tell on the matter, less or more,
And tell me what and how
Ye have done with the bold beggar
I sent you for right now.

And when they told him to an end,
As I have said before,
How that the beggar did them blind,
What " mister" presses more?

. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
And how in the thick woods he fled,
E'er they a stime could see;

And how they scarcely could win home,
Their bones were baste so sore;
Good Robin cry'd, Fy! out! for shame!
We're sham'd for evermore.

Altho good Robin would full fain
Of his wrath revenged be,
He smil'd to see his merry young men
Had gotten a taste of the tree.