Читать книгу The Ancient English Poetry - Various Authors - Страница 39

Table of Contents

We have here a ballad of Robin Hood (from the editor's folio MS.) which was never before printed, and carries marks of much greater antiquity than any of the common popular songs on this subject.

The severity of those tyrannical forest laws that were introduced by our Norman kings, and the great temptation of breaking them by such as lived near the royal forests at a time when the yeomanry of this kingdom were everywhere trained up to the long-bow, and excelled all other nations in the art of shooting, must constantly have occasioned great numbers of outlaws, and especially of such as were the best marksmen. These naturally fled to the woods for shelter, and, forming into troops, endeavoured by their numbers to protect themselves from the dreadful penalties of their delinquency. The ancient punishment for killing the king's deer was loss of eyes and castration, a punishment far worse than death. This will easily account for the troops of banditti which formerly lurked in the royal forests, and, from their superior skill in archery and knowledge of all the recesses of those unfrequented solitudes, found it no difficult matter to resist or elude the civil power.

Among all those, none was ever more famous than the hero of this ballad, whose chief residence was in Shirewood forest, in Nottinghamshire, and the heads of whose story, as collected by Stow, are briefly these.

"In this time [about the year 1190, in the reign of Richard I.] were many robbers, and outlawes, among the which Robin Hood, and Little John, renowned theeves, continued in woods, despoyling and robbing the goods of the rich. They killed none but such as would invade them; or by resistance for their own defence.

"The saide Robert entertained an hundred tall men and good archers with such spoiles and thefts as he got, upon whom four hundred (were they ever so strong) durst not give the onset. He suffered no woman to be oppressed, violated, or otherwise molested: poore mens goods he spared, abundantlie relieving them with that which by theft he got from abbeys and the houses of rich carles: whom Maior (the historian) blameth for his rapine and theft, but of all theeves he affirmeth him to be the prince, and the most gentle theefe."—Annals, p. 159.

The personal courage of this celebrated outlaw, his skill in archery, his humanity, and especially his levelling principle of taking from the rich and giving to the poor, have in all ages rendered him the favourite of the common people, who, not content to celebrate his memory by innumerable songs and stories, have erected him into the dignity of an earl. Indeed, it is not impossible but our hero, to gain the more respect from his followers, or they to derive the more credit to their profession, may have given rise to such a report themselves: for we find it recorded in an epitaph, which, if genuine, must have been inscribed on his tombstone near the nunnery of Kirklees in Yorkshire; where (as the story goes) he was bled to death by a treacherous nun to whom he applied for phlebotomy:—

"Hear undernead dis laitl stean

laiȝ robert earl of huntingtun

nea arcir ver aȝ hie sae geud

an pipl kauld im Robin Heud

sick utlaws as hi an is men

vil England nivir si agen.

obiit 24 kal. dekembris. 1247."480

This epitaph appears to me suspicious; however, a late antiquary has given a pedigree of Robin Hood, which, if genuine, shows that he had real pretensions to the Earldom of Huntingdon, and that his true name was Robert Fitz-ooth.481 Yet the most ancient poems on Robin Hood make no mention of this earldom. He is expressly asserted to have been a yeoman482 in a very old legend in verse, preserved in the archives of the public library at Cambridge,483 in eight fyttes, or parts, printed in black letter, quarto, thus inscribed: "¶ Here begynneth a lytell geste of Robyn hode and his meyne, and of the proude sheryfe of Notyngham." The first lines are—

"Lithe and lysten, gentylmen,

That be of fre-bore blode:

I shall you tell of a good yeman, His name was Robyn hode.

"Robyn was a proude out-lawe,

Whiles he walked on grounde;

So curteyse an outlawe as he was one,

Was never none yfounde," &c.

The printer's colophon is, "¶ Explicit Kinge Edwarde and Robin hode and Lyttel Johan. Enprented at London in Flete-strete at the sygne of the sone by Wynkin de Worde." In Mr. Garrick's Collection484 is a different edition of the same poem, "¶ Imprinted at London upon the thre Crane wharfe by Wyllyam Copland," containing at the end a little dramatic piece on the subject of Robin Hood and the Friar, not found in the former copy, called, "A newe playe for to be played in Maye games very plesaunte and full of pastyme. ¶(∴)⁋."

I shall conclude these preliminary remarks with observing, that the hero of this ballad was the favourite subject of popular songs so early as the time of King Edward III. In the Visions of Pierce Plowman, written in that reign, a monk says:—

"I can rimes of Roben Hod, and Randal of Chester,

But of our Lorde and our Lady, I lerne nothyng at all."

Fol. 26, ed. 1550.

See also in Bishop Latimer's Sermons485 a very curious and characteristic story, which shows what respect was shown to the memory of our archer in the time of that prelate.

The curious reader will find many other particulars relating to this celebrated outlaw, in Sir John Hawkins's Hist. of Music, vol. iii. p. 410, 4to.

For the catastrophe of Little John, who, it seems, was executed for a robbery on Arbor-hill, Dublin (with some curious particulars relating to his skill in archery), see Mr. J. C. Walker's ingenious Memoir on the Armour and Weapons of the Irish, p. 129, annexed to his Historical Essay on the Dress of the Ancient and Modern Irish. Dublin, 1788, 4to.

Some liberties were, by the editor, taken with this ballad; which, in this edition, hath been brought nearer to the folio MS.

[Robin Hood is first mentioned in literature in Piers Plowman, the earliest of the three forms of which poem was written probably about the year 1362. The ballad of Robin Hood and the Monk, printed in Child's English and Scottish Ballads, as the oldest of its class, and possibly as old as the reign of Edward II., commences:—

"In somer when the shawes be sheyne

And leves be large and longe

Hit is full mery in feyre foreste

To here the foulys song."

Verses which bear a strong likeness to the opening lines of the present ballad.

Gisborne is a market town in the West Riding of the county of York on the borders of Lancashire, and Guy of that place is mentioned by William Dunbar in a satirical piece on "Schir Thomas Nory," where he is named in company with Adam Bell and other well-known worthies.

It is not needful to extend this note with any further particulars of Robin Hood, as he possesses, in virtue of his position as a popular hero, a literature of his own. Those who wish to know more of his exploits should consult Ritson's (1795) and Gutch's (1847) Collections of Robin Hood Ballads, Child's Ballads, vol. v. and Chappell's Popular Music of the Olden Time, vol. i. pp. 387–400.

There are several Robin Hood Ballads in the folio MS., but Percy only chose the one containing an account of the encounter with Guy for printing. Ritson copied this ballad from Percy's book, but indulged at the same time in a tirade against the bishop's treatment of his original.]

When shaws beene sheene,486 and shradds487 full fayre,488 And leaves both large and longe, Itt is merrye walking in the fayre forrèst To heare the small birdes songe.489

The woodweele490 sang, and wold not cease,4915 Sitting upon the spraye,492 Soe lowde, he wakened Robin Hood,492 In the greenwood where he lay.492

Now by my faye,493 sayd jollye Robìn,492 A sweaven494 I had this night;49210 I dreamt me of tow wighty495 yemen,492 That fast with me can fight.]492

Methought they did mee beate and binde,

And tooke my bow mee froe;496 If I be Robin alive in this lande,15 Ile be wroken497 on them towe.

Sweavens are swift, Master, quoth John,

As the wind that blowes ore a hill;

For if itt be never so loude this night,

To-morrow itt may be still.20

Buske yee, bowne yee,498 my merry men all, And John shall goe with mee, For Ile goe seeke yond wight yeomen, In greenwood where thé bee.

Thé cast on their gownes of grene,25

And tooke theyr bowes each one;

And they away to the greene forrèst]

A shooting forth are gone;499

Untill they came to the merry greenwood,

Where they had gladdest bee,30

There were thé ware500 of a wight yeomàn, His body leaned to a tree.

A sword and a dagger he wore by his side,

Of manye a man the bane;501 And he was clad in his capull hyde50235 Topp and tayll and mayne.

Stand you still, master, quoth Litle John,

Under this tree so grene,

And I will go to yond wight yeoman

To know what he doth meane.50340

Ah! John, by me thou settest noe store,

And that I farley504 finde:505 How offt send I my men beffore, And tarry my selfe behinde?

It is no cunning a knave to ken,45

And a man but heare him speake;

And itt were not for bursting of my bowe,

John, I thy head wold breake.

As often wordes they breeden bale,506 So they parted Robin and John;50 And John is gone to Barnesdale: The gates507 he knoweth eche one.

But when he came to Barnesdale,

Great heavinesse there hee hadd,

For he found tow of his owne fellòwes55

Were slaine both in a slade.508

And Scarlette he was flyinge a-foote

Fast over stocke and stone,

For the sheriffe with seven score men

Fast after him is gone.60

One shoote now I will shoote, quoth John,509 With Christ his might and mayne; Ile make yond fellow that flyes soe fast, To stopp he shall be fayne.510

Then John bent up his long bende-bowe,51165 And fetteled512 him to shoote: The bow was made of a tender boughe, And fell downe to his foote.

Woe worth, woe worth thee, wicked wood,513 That ere thou grew on a tree;70 For now this day thou art my bale, My boote514 when thou shold bee.

His shoote it was but loosely shott,

Yet flewe not the arrowe in vaine,515 For itt mett one of the sherriffes men,75 Good William a Trent was slaine.

It had bene better of William a Trent

To have bene abed with sorrowe,516 Than to be that day in the green wood slade517 To meet with Little Johns arrowe.51880

But as it is said, when men be mett

Fyve can doe more than three,519 The sheriffe hath taken little John,520 And bound him fast to a tree.

Thou shalt be drawen by dale and downe,85

And hanged hye on a hill.

But thou mayst fayle of thy purpose, quoth John,521 If itt be Christ his will.522

Let us leave talking of Litle John,

And thinke of Robin Hood,52390 How he is gone to the wight yeomàn, Where under the leaves he stood.

Good morrowe, good fellowe, sayd Robin so fayre,524 "Good morrowe, good fellow, quoth he:" Methinkes by this bowe thou beares in thy hande95 A good archere thou sholdst bee.525

I am wilfull526 of my waye, quo' the yeman,527 And of my morning tyde. Ile lead thee through the wood, sayd Robin; Good fellow, Ile be thy guide.100

I seeke an outlàwe, the straunger sayd,528 Men call him Robin Hood; Rather Ild meet with that proud outlàwe529 Than fortye pound soe good.529

Now come with me, thou wighty yeman,530105 And Robin thou soone shalt see:530 But first let us some pastime find530 Under the greenwood tree.]530

First let us some masterye531 make532 Among the woods so even,532110 Wee may chance to meet with Robin Hood Here att some unsett steven.533

They cutt them downe two summer shroggs,534 That grew both under a breere,535 And sett them threescore rood in twaine115 To shoote the prickes536 y-fere.537

Leade on, good fellowe, quoth Robin Hood,538 Leade on, I doe bidd thee. Nay by my faith, good fellowe, hee sayd,539 My leader thou shalt bee.540120

The first time Robin shot at the pricke,541 He mist but an inch it froe:541 The yeoman he was an archer good,541 But he cold never shoote soe.

The second shoote had the wightye yeman,542125 He shote within the garlànde:543 But Robin he shott far better than hee, For he clave the good pricke wande.544

A blessing upon thy heart, he sayd;545 Good fellowe, thy shooting is goode;130 For an thy hart be as good as thy hand, Thou wert better then Robin Hoode.

Now tell me thy name, good fellowe, sayd he,546 Under the leaves of lyne.547 Nay by my faith, quoth bolde Robìn,548135 Till thou have told me thine.549

I dwell by dale and downe, quoth hee,

And Robin to take Ime sworne;

And when I am called by my right name

I am Guye of good Gisbòrne.140

My dwelling is in this wood, sayes Robin,

By thee I set right nought:

I am Robin Hood of Barnèsdale,

Whom thou so long hast sought.550

He that had neither beene kithe nor kin,145

Might have seene a full fayre sight,

To see how together these yeomen went

With blades both browne551 and bright.

To see how these yeomen together they fought552 Two howres of a summers day:150 Yett neither Robin Hood nor sir Guy553 Them fettled to flye away.

Robin was reachles554 on a roote, And stumbled at that tyde; And Guy was quicke and nimble with-all,155 And hitt him ore the left side.

Ah deere Lady, sayd Robin Hood, tho

That art both mother and may',555 I think it was never mans destinye To dye before his day.160

Robin thought on our ladye deere,

And soone leapt up againe,

And strait he came with a "backward" stroke,556 And he sir Guy hath slayne.557

He took sir Guys head by the hayre,165

And sticked itt on his bowes end:

Thou hast beene a traytor all thy liffe,

Which thing must have an ende.

Robin pulled forth an Irish kniffe,

And nicked sir Guy in the face,170

That he was never on woman born,

Cold tell whose head it was.558

Saies, Lye there, lye there, now sir Guye,559 And with me be not wrothe; If thou have had the worse strokes at my hand,175 Thou shalt have the better clothe.

Robin did off his gowne of greene,

And on sir Guy did it throwe,

And hee put on that capull hyde,

That cladd him topp to toe.180

The bowe, the arrowes, and little horne,

Now with me I will beare;560 For I will away to Barnèsdale, To see how my men doe fare.

Robin Hood sett Guyes home to his mouth,185

And a loud blast in it did blow.

That beheard the sheriffe of Nottingham,

As he leaned under a lowe.561

Hearken, hearken, sayd the sheriffe,

I heare nowe tydings good,190

For yonder I heare sir Guyes horne blowe,

And he hath slaine Robin Hoode.

Yonder I heare sir Guyes horne blowe,

Itt blowes soe well in tyde,

And yonder comes that wightye yeoman,195

Cladd in his capull hyde.

Come hyther, come hyther, thou good sir Guy,

Aske what thou wilt of mee.

O I will none of thy gold, sayd Robin,562 Nor I will none of thy fee:200

But now I have slaine the master, he sayes,

Let me go strike the knave;

This is all the rewarde I aske;

Nor noe other will I have.

Thou art a madman, said the sheriffe,205

Thou sholdest have had a knights fee:

But seeing thy asking hath beene soe bad,

Well granted it shale be.

When Litle John heard his master speake,

Well knewe he it was his steven:563210 Now shall I be looset, quoth Litle John, With Christ his might in heaven.

Fast Robin hee hyed him to Little John,

He thought to loose him belive;564 The sheriffe and all his companye215 Fast after him did drive.

Stand abacke, stand abacke, sayd Robin;

Why draw you mee soe neere?

Itt was never the use in our countryè,

Ones shrift another shold heere.220

But Robin pulled forth an Irysh kniffe,

And losed John hand and foote,

And gave him sir Guyes bow into his hand,

And bade it be his boote.565

Then John he took Guyes bow in his hand,566225 His boltes and arrowes eche one: When the sheriffe saw Little John bend his bow, He fettled him to be gone.

Towards his house in Nottingham towne,567 He fled full fast away;230 And soe did all his companye: Not one behind wold stay.

But he cold neither runne soe fast,568 Nor away soe fast cold ryde,568 But Litle John with an arrowe soe broad,568235 He shott him into the 'backe'-syde.568

⁂ The title of Sir was not formerly peculiar to knights, it was given to priests, and sometimes to very inferior personages.

Dr. Johnson thinks this title was applied to such as had taken the degree of A. B. in the universities, who are still stiled, Domini, "Sirs," to distinguish them from Undergraduates, who have no prefix, and from Masters of Arts, who are stiled Magistri, "Masters."