A Collection of Ballads Part 35

Geffe me they clothyng, and thow schalt hafe myne; Y well go to Notynggam."

"Y grant therto," seyde the potter, "Thow schalt feynde me a felow G.o.de; But thow can sell mey pottes well, Come ayen as thow yode."

"Nay, be mey trowt," seyde Roben, "And then y bescro mey hede Yeffe y bryng eney pottes ayen, And eney weyffe well hem chepe."

Than spake Leytell John, And all hes felowhes heynd, "Master, be well war of the screffe of Notynggam, For he ys leytell howr frende."

"Heyt war howte," seyde Roben, "Felowhes, let me alone; Thorow the helpe of howr ladey, To Notynggam well y gon."

Robyn went to Notynggam, Thes pottes for to sell; The potter abode with Robens men, Ther he fered not eylle.

Tho Roben droffe on hes wey, So merey ower the londe: Heres mor and affter ys to saye, The best ys beheynde.

[THE SECOND FIT.]

When Roben cam to Netynggam, The soyt yef y scholde saye, He set op hes horse anon, And gaffe hem hotys and haye.

Yn the medys of the towne, Ther he schowed hes war; "Pottys! pottys!" he gan crey foll sone, "Haffe hansell for the mar."

Foll effen agenest the screffeys gate Schowed he hes chaffar; Weyffes and wedowes abowt hem drow, And chepyd fast of hes war.

Yet, "Pottys, gret chepe!" creyed Robyn, "Y loffe yeffell thes to stonde;"

And all that saw hem sell, Seyde he had be no potter long.

The pottys that wer werthe pens feyffe, He sold tham for pens thre; Preveley seyde man and weyffe, "Ywnder potter schall never the."

Thos Roben solde foll fast, Tell he had pottys bot feyffe; On he hem toke of his car, And sende hem to the screffeys weyffe.

Therof sche was foll fayne, "Grama.r.s.ey, sir," than seyde sche; "When ye com to thes contre ayen, Y schall bey of they pottys, so mot y the."

"Ye schall haffe of the best," seyde Roben, And swar be the treneyte; Foll corteysley she gan hem call, "Com deyne with the screfe and me."

"G.o.dama.r.s.ey," seyde Roben, "Yowr bedyng schalle be doyn;"

A mayden yn the pottys gan ber, Roben and the screffe weyffe folowed anon.

Whan Roben ynto the hall cam, The screffe sone he met; The potter cowed of corteysey, And sone the screffe he gret.

"Loketh what thes potter hayt geffe yow and me; Feyffe pottys smalle and grete!"

"He ys fol wellcom, seyd the screffe, "Let os was, and go to mete."

As they sat at her methe, With a n.o.bell cher, Two of the screffes men gan speke Off a gret wager,

Was made the thother daye, Off a schotyng was G.o.d and feyne, Off forty s.h.i.+llings, the soyt to saye, Who scholde thes wager wen.

Styll than sat thes prowde po, Thos than thowt he; "As y am a trow Cerstyn man, Thes schotyng well y se."

Whan they had fared of the best, With bred and ale and weyne, To the bottys they made them prest, With bowes and boltys full feyne.

The screffes men schot foll fast, As archares that weren G.o.dde; Ther cam non ner ney the marke Bey halfe a G.o.d archares bowe.

Stell then stod the prowde potter, Thos than seyde he; "And y had a bow, be the rode, On schot scholde yow se."

"Thow schall haffe a bow," seyde the screffe, "The best that thow well cheys of thre; Thou semyst a stalward and a stronge, Asay schall thow be."

The screffe commandyd a yeman that stod hem bey Affter bowhes to wende; The best bow that the yeman browthe Roben set on a stryng.

"Now schall y wet and thow be G.o.d, And polle het op to they ner;"

"So G.o.d me helpe," seyde the prowde potter, "Thys ys bot rygzt weke ger."

To a quequer Roben went, A G.o.d bolt owthe he toke; So ney on to the marke he went, He fayled not a fothe.

All they schot abowthe agen, The screffes men and he; Off the marke he welde not fayle, He cleffed the preke on thre.

The screffes men thowt gret schame, The potter the mastry wan; The screffe lowe and made G.o.d game, And seyde, "Potter, thow art a man; Thow art worthey to ber a bowe, Yn what plas that thow gang."

"Yn mey cart y haffe a bowe, Forsoyt," he seyde, "and that a G.o.dde; Yn mey cart ys the bow That I had of Robyn Hode."

"Knowest thow Robyn Hode?" seyde the screffe, "Potter, y prey the tell thou me;"

"A hundred torne y haffe schot with hem, Under hes tortyll tree."

"Y had lever nar a hundred ponde," seyde the screffe, And swar be the trenite, ["Y had lever nar a hundred ponde," he seyde,]

"That the fals owtelawe stod be me.

"And ye well do afftyr mey red," seyde the potter, "And boldeley go with me, And to morow, or we het bred, Roben Hode wel we se."

"Y well queyt the," kod the screffe, And swer be G.o.d of meythe; Schetyng thay left, and hom they went, Her scoper was redey deythe.

Upon the morow, when het was day, He boskyd hem forthe to reyde; The potter hes carte forthe gan ray, And wolde not [be] leffe beheynde.

He toke leffe of the screffys wyffe, And thankyd her of all thyng: "Dam, for mey loffe, and ye well thys wer, Y geffe yow her a golde ryng."

"Grama.r.s.ey," seyde the weyffe, "Sir, G.o.d eylde het the;"

The screffes hart was never so leythe, The feyr forest to se.

And when he cam ynto the foreyst, Yonder the leffes grene, Berdys ther sange on bowhes prest, Het was gret joy to sene.

"Her het ys mercy to be," seyde Roben, "For a man that had hawt to spende; Be mey horne we schall awet Yeff Roben Hode be ner hande."

Roben set hes horne to hes mowthe, And blow a blast that was full G.o.d, That herde hes men that ther stode, Fer downe yn the wodde; "I her mey master," seyde Leytell John; They ran as thay wer wode.

Whan thay to thar master cam, Leytell John wold not spar; "Master, how haffe yow far yn Notynggam?

How haffe yow solde yowr war?"

"Ye, be mey trowthe, Leytyll John, Loke thow take no car; Y haffe browt the screffe of Notynggam, For all howr chaffar."

"He ys foll wellcom," seyde Lytyll John, "Thes tydyng ys foll G.o.dde;"

The screffe had lever nar a hundred ponde [He had never sene Roben Hode.]