And aye their swordes soe sore can byte, Throughe help of Gramaryè, That soone they have slayne the kempery men, Or forst them forth to flee. Kyng Estmere took that fayre ladye, And marryed her to his wiffe, And brought her home to merry England With her to leade his life. [Illustration] [Illustration] KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY An ancient story Ile tell you anon Of a notable prince, that was called King John; And he ruled England with maine and with might, For he did great wrong, and maintein'd little right. And Ile tell you a story, a story so merrye, Concerning the Abbot of Canterbùrye; How for his house-keeping, and high renowne, They rode poste for him to fair London towne. An hundred men, the king did heare say, The abbot kept in his house every day; And fifty golde chaynes, without any doubt, In velvet coates waited the abbot about. How now, father abbot, I heare it of thee, Thou keepest a farre better house than mee, And for thy house-keeping and high renowne, I feare thou work'st treason against my crown. My liege, quo' the abbot, I would it were knowne, I never spend nothing, but what is my owne; And I trust, your grace will doe me no deere, For spending of my owne true-gotten geere. Yes, yes, father abbot, thy fault it is highe, And now for the same thou needest must dye; For except thou canst answer me questions three, Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodìe. And first, quo' the king, when I'm in this stead, With my crowne of golde so faire on my head, Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe, Thou must tell me to one penny what I am worthe. Secondlye, tell me, without any doubt, How soone I may ride the whole world about. And at the third question thou must not shrink, But tell me here truly what I do think. O, these are hard questions for my shallow witt, Nor I cannot answer your grace as yet: But if you will give me but three weekes space, Ile do my endeavour to answer your grace. Now three weeks space to thee will I give, And that is the longest time thou hast to live; For if thou dost not answer my questions three, Thy lands and thy livings are forfeit to mee. Away rode the abbot all sad at that word, And he rode to Cambridge, and Oxenford; But never a doctor there was so wise, That could with his learning an answer devise. Then home rode the abbot of comfort so cold, And he mett his shepheard a going to fold: How now, my lord abbot, you are welcome home; What newes do you bring us from good King John? "Sad newes, sad newes, shepheard, I must give; That I have but three days more to live: For if I do not answer him questions three, My head will be smitten from my bodie. The first is to tell him there in that stead, With his crowne of golde so fair on his head, Among all his liege men so noble of birth, To within one penny of all what he is worth.