Читать книгу The Ballads and Songs of Yorkshire - Various - Страница 9

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Robin Hood, a celebrated English outlaw, was born at Locksley, in the county of Nottingham, in the reign of Henry II. about 1160. He is said to have been of noble extraction, being the son of William Fitzooth by his wife a daughter of Payn Beauchamp, baron of Bedford, and lady Roisia de Vere, daughter of Aubrey, earl of Guisnes in Normandy,[11] and is frequently styled earl of Huntingdon—a title to which, in the latter part of his life, he actually appears to have had some sort of pretension. In his youth he is said to have been of a wild and extravagant turn; insomuch that, his inheritance being consumed, and his person outlawed for debt,[12] he sought an asylum in the woods of Barnsdale, in Yorkshire,[13] Sherwood, in Nottinghamshire, and, according to some, Plumpton-park, in Cumberland.[14] He either found or was afterwards joined by a number of persons, the principal being Little John (whose surname is said to have been Nailor), William Scadlock (Scathelock or Scarlet), George a Green (pinder or pound-keeper of Wakefield), Much (a miller's son), and a certain monk or friar called Tuck. "These renowned thieves," says Stowe, "continued in the woods, despoiling and robbing the goods of the rich. They killed none but such as would invade them, or by resistance for their own defence. The said Robin entertained 100 tall men, good archers, with such of the spoils and thefts as he got, upon whom 400 (were they ever so strong) durst not give the onset. He suffered no woman to be oppressed, violated, or otherwise molested; poor men's goods he spared, abundantly relieving them with that which by theft he got from abbeys and the houses of rich old carles." He died in 1247; see Robin Hood's Death and Burial, post.

Guy of Gisborne—the only other memorial which I can find relating to him is in an old satirical piece by William Dunbar, a celebrated Scottish poet, of the fifteenth century,[15] on one "Schir Thomas Nory," where he is named along with our hero, Adam Bell, and other worthies, it is conjectured, of a similar stamp, but whose merits have not come to the knowledge of posterity:—

"Was neuir weild Robeine vnder bewch,

Nor zitt Roger of Clekkinstewch,

So bauld a bairne as he;

Gy of Gysburne, na Allane Bell,

Na Simones sones of Quhynsell,

Off thocht war neuir so slies."

Gisborne, or Gisburne, is a market town in the west-riding of Yorkshire, on the borders of Lancashire.

The following ballad was first printed in Percy's Reliques in 1765, from his "folio MS."

When shaws[16] beene sheene, and shraddes[17] full fayre,

And leaves both large and longe,

Itt's merrye walkyng in the fayre forrest

To heare the small birdes' songe.

The woodweele sang, and wold not cease,

Sitting upon the spraye,

Soe lowde, he wakened Robin Hood,

In the greenwood where he lay.

"Now, by my saye," sayd jollye Robin,

"A sweaven[18] I had this night;

I dreamt me of tow wighty yemen

That fast with me can fight.

"Methought they did me beate and binde,

And tooke my bowe me froe;

Iff I be Robin alive in this lande

Ile be wroken on them towe."

"Sweavens are swift," sayd Little John,

"As the wind blowes over the hill;

For iff itt be never so loude this night,

To morrow it may be still."

"Buske[19] yee, bowne[20] yee, my merry men all,

And John shall goe with mee,

For Ile goe seeke yon wighty[21] yeoman,

In greenwood where they bee."

Then they cast on theyr gownes of grene,

And tooke theyr bowes each one;

And they away to the greene forrest

A shooting forth are gone;

Untill they came to the merry greenwood,

Where they had gladdest to bee,

There they were ware of a wighty yeoman,

That leaned agaynst a tree.

A sword and a dagger he wore by his side,

Of manye a man the bane:

And he was clad in his capull[22] hyde

Topp and tayll and mayne.

"Stand still, master," quoth Little John,

"Under this tree so grene,

And I will go to yond wighty yeoman,

To know what he doth meane."

"Ah! John, by me thou settest noe store,

And that I farly finde:

How often send I my men before,

And tarry my selfe behinde?

"It is no cunning a knave to ken,

And a man but heare him speake;

And it were not for bursting of my bowe,

John, I thy head wold breake."

As often wordes they breeden bale,[23]

So they parted Robin and John:

And John is gone to Barnesdale;

The gates[24] he knoweth eche one.

But when he came to Barnesdale,

Great heavinesse there he hadd,

For he found tow of his own fellowes

Were slaine both in a slade.[25]

And Scarlette he was flying a-foote

Fast over stocke and stone,

For the proud sheriffe with seven score men

Fast after him is gone.

"One shoote now I will shoote," quoth John,

"With Christ his might and mayne;

Ile make yond sheriffe that wends soe fast,

To stopp he shall be fayne."

Then John bent up his long bende-bowe,

And fettled him to shoote:

The bowe was made of tender boughe,

And fell downe at his foote.

"Woe worth, woe worth thee, wicked wood,

That ever thou grew on a tree!

For now this day thou art my bale,[26]

My boote when thou shold bee."

His shoote it was but loosely shott,

Yet flewe not the arrowe in vaine,

For itt mett one of the sheriffe's men,

And William a Trent was slaine.

It had been better of William a Trent

To have beene abed with sorrowe,

Than to be that day in the greenwood slade

To meet with Little John's arrowe.

But as it is said, when men be mett

Fyve can doe more than three,

The sheriffe hath taken Little John,

And bound him fast to a tree.

"Thou shalt be drawen by dale and downe,

And hanged hye on a hill."

"But thou mayst fayle of thy purpose," quoth John,

"If it be Christ his will."

Lett us leave talking of Little John,

And thinke of Robin Hood,

How he is gone to the wight yeoman,

Where under the leaves he stood.

"Good morrowe, good fellowe," sayd Robin so fayre,

"Good morrowe, good fellow," quo' he:

"Methinkes by this bowe thou beares in thy hande,

A good archere thou sholdst bee."

"I am wilfulle of my waye," quo' the yeman,

"And of my morning tyde."

"Ile lead thee through the wood," sayd Robin;

"Good fellow, Ile be thy guide."

"I seeke an outlawe," the straunger sayd,

"Men call him Robin Hood;

Rather Ild meet with that proud outlawe,

Than fortye pound soe good."

"Now come with me, thou wighty yeman,

And Robin thou soone shalt see:

But first let us some pastime find

Under the greenwood tree.

"First let us some masterye make

Among the woods so even,

We may chance to meet with Robin Hood,

Here at some unsett steven."[27]

They cut them down two summer shroggs,[28]

That grew both under a breere,

And sett them threescore rood in twaine,

To shoote the prickes y-fere.[29]

"Leade on, good fellowe," quoth Robin Hood,

"Leade on, I do bidd thee."

"Nay, by my faith, good fellowe," hee sayd,

"My leader thou shalt bee."

The first time Robin shot at the pricke,

He mist but an inch it fro;

The yeoman he was an archer good,

But he cold never do soe.

The second shoote had the wighty yeman,

He shot within the garland:

But Robin he shott far better than hee,

For he clave the good pricke-wande.

"A blessing upon thy heart," he sayd,

"Good fellowe, thy shooting is goode;

For an thy hart be as good as thy hand,

Thou wert better than Robin Hood.

"Now tell me thy name, good fellowe," sayd he,

"Under the leaves of lyne."

"Nay, by my faith," quoth bold Robin,

"Till thou have told me thine."

"I dwell by dale and downe," quoth hee,

"And Robin to take I am sworne;

And when I am called by my right name

I am Guy of good Gisborne."

"My dwelling is in the wood," says Robin,

"By thee I set right nought:

I am Robin Hood of Barnesdale,

Whom thou so long hast sought."

He that had neyther beene kythe nor kin,

Might have seen a full fayre fight,

To see how together these yeomen went,

With blades both browne and bright.

To see how these yeomen together they fought

Two howres of a summer's day':

Yet neither Robin Hood nor sir[30] Guy

Them settled to flye away.

Robin was reachles on a roote,

And stumbled at that tyde;

And Guy was quicke and nimble withall

And hitt him upon the syde.

"Ah, deere ladye," says Robin Hood tho,

"That art but mother and may,

I think it was never man's destinye

To dye before his day."

Robin thought on our ladye deere,

And soone leapt up again,

And strait he came with an awkwarde stroke

And he sir Guy hath slayne.

He took sir Guy's head by the hayre,

And stuck it upon his bowes end:

"Thou hast beene a traytor all thy life,

Which thing must have an end."

Robin pulled forth an Irish knife,

And nicked sir Guy in the face,

That he was never on woman born

Cold know whose head it was.

Sayes, "Lye there, lye there, now Sir Guye,

And with me be not wrothe;

Iff thou have had the worst strokes at my hand,

Thou shalt have the better clothe."

Robin did off his gown of greene,

And on sir Guy did throwe,

And he put on that capull hyde,

That cladd him topp to toe.

"Thy bowe, thy arrowes, and little horne,

Now with me I will beare;

For I will away to Barnesdale,

To see how my men doe fare."

Robin Hood sett Guye's horne to his mouth,

And a loude blast in it did blow:

That beheard the sheriffe of Nottingham,

As he lean'd under a lowe.[31]

"Hearken, hearken," sayd the sheriffe,

"I heare nowe tydings good,

For yonder I hear Sir Guye's horne blow,

And he hath slaine Robin Hood.

"Yonder I heare Sir Guye's horne blowe,

Itt blowes soe well in tyde,

And yonder comes that wightye yeoman,

Cladd in his capull hide.

"Come hyther, come hyther, thou good Sir Guy

Aske what thou wilt of mee."

"O I will none of thy gold," sayd Robin,

"Nor I will none of thy fee:

"But now I have slaine the master," he says,

"Let me goe strike the knave;

For this is all the mede I aske;

None other rewarde I'le have."

"Thou art a madman," sayd the sheriffe,

"Thou sholdst have had a knight's fee:

But seeing thy asking hath beene soe bad,

Well granted it shall bee."

When little John heard his master speake,

Well knewe he it was his steven:

"Now shall I be looset," quoth little John,

"With Christ his might in heaven."

Fast Robin hee hyed him to Little John,

He thought to loose him blive;[32]

The sheriffe and all his companye

Fast after him can drive.

"Stand abacke, stand abacke," sayd Robin,

"Why draw you mee so neere?

It was never the use in our countrye,

One's shrift[33] another shold heere."

But Robin pulled forth an Irish knife,

And losed John hand and foote,

And gave him Sir Guye's bow into his hand,

And bade it be his boote.

Then John he took Guye's bow in his hand,

His boltes and arrowes eche one:

When the sheriffe saw Little John bend his bow,

He fettled him to begone.

Towards his house in Nottingham towne,

He fled full fast away;

And soe did all the companye:

Not one behind wold stay.

But he cold neither runne soe fast,

Nor away soe fast cold ryde,

But Little John with an arrowe soe broad,

He shott him into the backe syde.