: Reliques of Ancient English Poetry Volume 1 (of 3) Consisting of Old Heroic Ballads Songs and Other Pieces of Our Earlier Poets Together With Some Few of Later Date by Percy Thomas Editor Wheatley Henry B Henry Benjamin Editor - English poetry Early moder

@FreeBooksWed 07 Jun, 2023

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When shaws beene sheene, and shradds full fayre, And leaves both large and longe, Itt is merrye walking in the fayre forr?st To heare the small birdes songe.

The woodweele sang, and wold not cease, 5 Soe lowde, he wakened Robin Hood, In the greenwood where he lay.

Methought they did mee beate and binde, And tooke my bow mee froe; If I be Robin alive in this lande, 15 Ile be wroken 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, my merry men all, And John shall goe with mee, For Ile goe seeke yond wight yeomen, In greenwood where th? bee.

Th? cast on their gownes of grene, 25 A shooting forth are gone;

Untill they came to the merry greenwood, Where they had gladdest bee, 30 There were th? ware of a wight yeom?n, His body leaned to 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 hyde 35 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. 40

Ah! John, by me thou settest noe store, And that I farley finde: 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, So they parted Robin and John; 50 And John is gone to Barnesdale: The gates he knoweth eche one.

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