| |
| WHEN England, smoking from her deadly wound, | |
| From her galled neck did pluck the chain away, | |
| Knowing her lawful sons fall all around, | |
| (Mighty they fell, ’twas honour led the fray); | |
| Then in a dale, by eve’s dark mantle gray, | 5 |
| Two lonely shepherds did abrodden fly, | |
| (The rustling leaf doth their white hearts affray), | |
| And with the owlet trembled and did cry; | |
| First Robert Neatherd his sore bosom stroke, | |
| Then fell upon the ground and thus y-spoke. | 10 |
| |
| Rob. | Ah, Raufe! if thus the hours do come along, | |
| If thus we fly in chase of farther woe, | |
| Our foot will fail; albeit we be strong, | |
| Nor will our pace swift as our danger go. | |
| To our great wrongs we have enhepèd moe. | 15 |
| The Barons’ war! Oh, woe and well-a-day! | |
| I haveth life, but have escapèd so, | |
| That life itself my senses do affray. | |
| Oh Raufe, come list, and hear my dernie tale, | |
| Come hear the baleful doom of Robin of the Dale. | 20 |
| |
| Raufe. | Say to me naught; I know thy woe in mine. | |
| Oh! I’ve a tale that Sabalus might tell. | |
| Sweet flowerets, mantled meadows, forests digne; | |
| Gravots, far-seen, around the hermit’s cell, | |
| The sweet ribible sounding in the dell, | 25 |
| The joyous dancing in the hoastrie court; | |
| Eke the high song and every joy, farewell! | |
| Farewell, the very shade of fair disport; | |
| Annoying trouble on my head do come, | |
| Nor one kind saint to ward the aye-increasing doom. | 30 |
| |
| Rob. | Oh! I could wail my kingcup-deckèd mees, | |
| My spreading flocks of sheep of lily white, | |
| My tender applynges, and embodyde trees, | |
| My parker’s grange, far-spreading to the sight, | |
| My tender cows, my bullocks strong in fight, | 35 |
| My garden whitened with the comfreie plant, | |
| My flower Saint-Mary shooting with the light, | |
| My store of all the blessings heaven can grant; | |
| I am duressèd unto sorrow’s blow, | |
| Accustomed to the pain, will let no salt tear flow. | 40 |
| |
| Raufe. | Here I will abide until death do ’pear, | |
| Here, like a foul empoisoned deadly tree, | |
| Which slayeth every one that cometh near, | |
| So will I, fixèd unto this place, gre. | |
| I to lament haveth more cause than thee; | 45 |
| Slain in the war my much-loved father lies; | |
| Oh! joyous I his murderer would slea, | |
| And by his side for aye enclose mine eyes. | |
| Cast out from every joy, here will I bleed, | |
| Fed is the ’cullis-gate of my heart’s castle-stead. | 50 |
| |
| Rob. | Our woes alike, alike our fate shall be. | |
| My son, my only son, y-storven is; | |
| Here will I stay, and end my life with thee; | |
| A life like mine a burden is, I wis. | |
| Now from e’en lodges fled is happiness, | 55 |
| Minsters alone can boast the holy saint. | |
| Now doeth England wear a bloody dress, | |
| And with her champions’ gore her face depeyncte, | |
| Peace fled, disorder sheweth her dark rode, | |
| And thórough air doth fly, in garments stained with blood. | 60 |
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