I think it is my nighest friend,

I think it is my bully Grahame.

'O welcome, O welcome, bully Grahame!
O man, thou art my dear, welcome!
O man, thou art my dear, welcome!

For I love thee best in Christendom.'

Away, away, O bully Bewick,

And of thy bullyship let me be!
The day is come I never thought on;
Bully, I'm come here to fight with thee.'

'O no! not so, O bully Grahame!

That eer such a word should spoken be! I was thy master, thou was my scholar: So well as I have learned thee.'

'My father he was in Carlisle town,

Where thy father Bewick there met he; He said I was bad, and he calld me a lad, And a baffled man by thou I be.'

'Away, away, O bully Grahame,
And of all that talk, man, let us be!
We'll take three men of either side
To see if we can our fathers agree.'

'Away, away, O bully Bewick,

And of thy bullyship let me be !

But if thou be a man, as I trow thou art,
Come over this ditch and fight with me.'

'O no, not so, my bully Grahame!

That eer such a word should spoken be! Shall I venture my body in field to fight With a man that's faith and troth to me?"

'Away, away, O bully Bewick,

And of all that care, man, let us be!

If thou be a man, as I trow thou art,

Come over this ditch and fight with me.'

'Now, if it be my fortune thee, Grahame, to kill, As God's will, man, it all must be;

But if it be my fortune thee, Grahame, to kill, 'Tis home again I'll never gae.'

'Thou art of my mind, then, bully Bewick, And sworn-brethren will we be;

If thou be a man, as I trow thou art,

Come over this ditch and fight with me.'

He flang his cloak from off his shoulders,
His psalm-book out of his hand flung he,
He clapd his hand upon the hedge,
And oer lap he right wantonly.

When Grahame did see his bully come,
The salt tear stood long in his eye:

'Now needs must I say that thou art a man,
That dare venture thy body to fight with me.

'Now I have a harness on my back;

I know that thou hath none on thine; But as little as thou hath on thy back, Sure as little shall there be on mine,'

He flang his jack from off his back,
His steel cap from his head flang he;
He's taken his sword into his hand,
He's tyed his horse unto a tree.

Now they fell to it with two broad swords,
For two long hours fought Bewick and he;
Much sweat was to be seen on them both,
But never a drop of blood to see.

Now Grahame gave Bewick an ackward stroke,
An ackward stroke surely struck he;

7 Leapt.

He struck him now under the left breast,
Then down to the ground as dead fell he.

'Arise, arise, O bully Bewick,

Arise, and speak three words to me!
Whether this be thy deadly wound,

Or God and good surgeons will mend thee.'

'O horse, O horse, O bully Grahame,
And pray do get thee far from me!
Thy sword is sharp, it hath wounded my heart,
And so no further can I gae.

'O horse, O horse, O bully Grahame,
And get thee far from me with speed!
And get thee out of this country quite!
That none may know who's done the deed.'

'O if this be true, my bully dear,

The words that thou dost tell to me,
The vow I made, and the vow I'll keep,
I swear I'll be the first to die.'

Then he stuck his sword in a moudie-hill,
Where he lap thirty good foot and three;
First he bequeathed his soul to God,

And upon his own sword-point lap he.

Now Grahame he was the first that died,
And then came Robin Bewick to see;
'Arise, arise, O son,' he said,

'For I see thou's won the victory.

'Arise, arise, O son,' he said,

'For I see thou's won the victory;'

'Father, could ye not drunk your wine at home,
And letten me and my brother be?

'Nay, dig a grave both low and wide,
And in it us two pray bury;

(E) HC XL

• Mole-hill.

32

But bury my bully Grahame on the sun-side
For I'm sure he's won the victory.'

Now we'll leave talking of these two brethren,
In Carlisle town where they lie slain,
And talk of these two good old men,
Where they were making a pitiful moan.

With that bespoke now Robin Bewick:
'O man was I not much to blame?
I have lost one of the liveliest lads
That ever was bred unto my name.'

With that bespoke my good lord Grahame:
‘O man, I have lost the better block;
I have lost my comfort and my joy,

I have lost my key, I have lost my lock.

'Had I gone through all Ladderdale,
And forty horse had set on me,
Had Christy Grahame been at my back,
So well as he would guarded me.'

I have no more of my song to sing,

But two or three words to you I'll name; But 'twill be talked in Carlisle town

That these two old men were all the blame.

A GEST OF ROBYN HODE

c. 15th century

Lythe' and listin, gentilmen,

That be of frebore blode;

I shall you tel of a gode yeman,
His name was Robyn Hode.

Robyn was a prudeR outlaw,
Whyles he walked on grounde;
1 Listen. • Freeborn. • Proud.

So curteyse an outlaw as he was one
Was never non yfounde.*

Robyn stode in Bernesdale,
And lenyd hym to a tre;
And bi him stode Litell Johnn,
A gode yeman was he.

And alsoo dyd gode Scarlok,

And Much, the miller's son;
There was none ynch of his bodi
But it was worth a grome.*

Than bespake Lytell Johnn
All untoo Robyn Hode:

Maister, and ye wolde dyne betyme
It wolde doo you moche gode.

Than bespake hym gode Robyn:
To dyne have I noo lust,
Till that I have som bolde baron,
Or som unkouth' gest.

That may pay for the best,
Or some knyght or som squyer
That dwelleth here bi west.

A gode maner than had Robyn;
In londe where that he were,
Every day or he wold dyne

Thre messis wolde he here.

The one in the worship of the Fader,
And another of the Holy Gost,
The thirde was of Our dere Lady
That he loved allthers moste.

Robyn loved Oure dere Lady;
For dout of dydly synne,

Found.

Worthy of a man. •If. 'Strange

Of all

• Fear.