That vile rank witch, of vilest kind
And say, your ladye has a steed,

The like of him's no in the land of Leed.
"For he is silver shod before,

And he is gowden shod behind;
At every tuft of that horse mane

There's a golden chess, and a bell to ring.
This gudely gift shall be her ain,

And let me be lighter of my bairn."
"Of her young bairn she's ne'er be lighter,

Nor in her bow'r to shine the brighter;
But she shall die, and turn to clay,

And ye shall wed another may."
"Another may I'll never wed,

Another may I'll never bring hame."
But, sighing, said that weary wight -

I wish my life were at an end!"
"Yet gae ye to your mother again,

That vile rank witch, of rankest kind!
And say, your ladye has a girdle,

It's all red gowd to the middle;
"And aye, at ilka siller hem,

Hang fifty siller bells and ten;
This gudely gift shall be her ain,

And let me be lighter of my bairn."
"Of her young bairn she's ne'er be lighter,

Nor in your bow'r to shine the brighter;
For she shall die, and turn to clay,

And thou shall wed another may."
"Another may I'll never wed,

Another may I'll never bring hame."
But, sighing, said that weary wight -

"I wish my days were at an end!"
Then out and spak the Billy Blind,

He spak aye in good time [his mind]:-
"Yet gae ye to the market place,

And there do buy a loaf of wace;
Do shape it bairn and bairnly like,

And in it two glassen een you'll put.
"Oh, wha has loosed the nine witch-knots

That were amang that ladye's locks?
And wha's ta'en out the kames of care,

That were amang that ladye's hair?
"And wha has ta'en down that bush of woodbine

That hung between her bow'r and mine?
And wha has kill'd the master kid

That ran beneath that ladye's bed?
And wha has loosed her left foot shee,

And let that ladye lighter be?"
Syne, Willie's loosed the nine witch-knots

That were amang that ladye's locks;
And Willie's ta'en out the kames of care

That were into that ladye's hair;
And he's ta'en down the bush of woodbine,

Hung atween her bow'r and the witch carline.
And he has killed the master kid

That ran beneath that ladye's bed;
And he has loosed her left foot shee,

And latten that ladye lighter be;
And now he has gotten a bonnie son,

And meikle grace be him upon.
Ballad: Robin Hood And The Monk

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.

To se the dere draw to the dale,
And leve the hilles hee,

And shadow hem in the leves grene,
Vndur the grene-wode tre.

Hit befell on Whitsontide,
Erly in a may mornyng,

The son vp fayre can shyne,
And the briddis mery can syng.

"This is a mery mornyng," seid Litulle Johne,
"Be hym that dyed on tre;

A more mery man than I am one
Lyves not in Cristiante."

"Pluk vp thi hert, my dere mayster,"
Litulle Johne can sey,

"And thynk hit is a fulle fayre tyme
In a mornynge of may."

"Ze on thynge greves me," seid Robyne,
"And does my hert mych woo,

That I may not so solem day
To mas nor matyns goo.

"Hit is a fourtnet and more," seyd hee,
"Syn I my Sauyour see;

To day will I to Notyngham," seid Robyn,
"With the myght of mylde Mary."

Then spake Moche the mylner sune,
Euer more wel hym betyde,

"Take xii thi wyght zemen
Well weppynd be thei side.

Such on wolde thi selfe slon
That xii dar not abyde."

"Off alle my mery men," seid Robyne,
"Be my feithe I wil non haue;

But Litulle Johne shall beyre my bow
Til that me list to drawe."

* * * * *
"Thou shalle beyre thin own," seid Litulle Jon,

"Maister, and I wil beyre myne,
And we wille shete a peny," seid Litulle Jon,

"Vnder the grene wode lyne."
"I wil not shete a peny," seyde Robyn Hode,

"In feith, Litulle Johne, with thee,
But euer for on as thou shetes," seid Robyn,

"In feith I holde the thre."
Thus shet thei forthe, these zemen too,

Bothe at buske and brome,
Til Litulle Johne wan of his maister

V s. to hose and shone.
A ferly strife fel them betwene,

As they went bi the way;
Litull Johne seid he had won v shyllyngs,

And Robyn Hode seid schortly nay.
With that Robyn Hode lyed Litul Jone,

And smote him with his honde;
Litul John waxed wroth therwith,

And pulled out his bright bronde.
"Were thou not my maister," seid Litulle Johne,

"Thou shuldis by hit ful sore;
Get the a man where thou wilt, Robyn,

For thou getes me no more."
Then Robyn goes to Notyngham,

Hymselfe mornynge allone,
And Litulle Johne to mery Scherewode,

The pathes he knowe alkone.
Whan Robyn came to Notyngham,

Sertenly withoutene layne,
He prayed to God and myld Mary

To brynge hym out saue agayne.
He gos into seynt Mary chirche,

And knelyd downe before the rode;
Alle that euer were the churche within

Beheld wel Robyne Hode.
Beside hym stode a gret-hedid munke,

I pray to God woo he be;
Full sone he knew gode Robyn

As sone as he hym se.
Out at the durre he ran

Ful sone and anon;
Alle the zatis of Notyngham

He made to be sparred euerychone.
"Rise vp," he seid, "thou prowde schereff,

Buske the and make the bowne;
I haue spyed the kynges felone,

For sothe he is in this towne.
"I haue spyed the false felone,

As he stondes at his masse;
Hit is longe of the," seide the munke,

"And euer he fro vs passe.
"This traytur[s] name is Robyn Hode;

Vnder the grene wode lynde,
He robbyt me onys of a C pound,

Hit shalle neuer out of my mynde."
Vp then rose this prowd schereff,

And zade towarde hym zare;
Many was the modur son

To the kyrk with him can fare.
In at the durres thei throly thrast

With staves ful gode ilkone,
"Alas, alas," seid Robin Hode,

"Now mysse I Litulle Johne."
But Robyne toke out a too-hond sworde

That hangit down be his kne;
Ther as the schereff and his men stode thyckust,

Thidurward wold he.
Thryes thorow at them he ran,

Then for sothe as I yow say,
And woundyt many a modur sone,

And xii he slew that day.
Hys sworde vpon the schireff hed

Sertanly he brake in too;
"The smyth that the made," seid Robyn,

"I pray God wyrke him woo.
"For now am I weppynlesse," seid Robyne,

"Alasse, agayn my wylle;
But if I may fle these traytors fro,

I wot thei wil me kylle."
Robyns men to the churche ran

Throout hem euerilkon;
Sum fel in swonyng as thei were dede,

And lay still as any stone.
* * * * *

Non of theym were in her mynde
But only Litulle Jon.

"Let be your dule," seid Litulle Jon,
"For his luf that dyed on tre;

Ze that shulde be duzty men,
Hit is gret shame to se.

"Oure maister has bene hard bystode,
And zet scapyd away;

Pluk up your hertes and leve this mone,
And herkyn what I shal say.

"He has seruyd our lady many a day,
And zet wil securly;

Therefore I trust in her specialy
No wycked deth shal he dye.

"Therfor be glad," seid Litul Johne,

• strife [straif] n.竞争；吵架；冲突 (高中英语单词)
• gotten [´gɔtn] get的过去分词 (英语四级单词)
• befell [bi´fel] befall的过去式 (英语四级单词)