He turned him on the other side, And at Lord Scroope his glove flung he: "If ye like na my visit in merry England, In fair Scotland come visit me!" All sore astonished stood Lord Scroope, He stood as still as rock of stane; He scarcely dared to trew his eyes, When through the water they had gane. "He is either himsell a devil frae hell, Or else his mither a witch maun be; I wadna hae ridden that wan water For a' the gowd in Christentie." * * * * * KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTEBBURY. An ancient story Ile tell you anon Of a notable prince, that was called King John; He ruled over England with maine and with might, For he did great wrong, and mainteined little right. And Ile tell you a story, a story so merrye, Concerning the Abbot of Canterburye; How for his housekeeping and high renowne, They rode poste for him to fair London towne. A hundred men, for the king did hear 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 housekeeping 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 faulte it is highe, And now for the same thou needest must dye; And except thou canst answer me questions three, Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodie. "And first," quo' the king, "when I'm in this stead, With my crown of golde so faire on my head, Among all my liegemen so noble of birthe, Thou must tell to one penny what I am worthe. "Secondlye, tell me, without any doubt, How soon 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 deep questions for my shallow witt, Nor I cannot answer your grace as yet: But if you will give me but three weekes space, I'll do my endeavor to answer your grace." "Now three weekes space to thee will I give, And that is the longest thou hast to live; For unless thou answer my questions three, Thy life and thy lands are forfeit to mee." Away rode the abbot all sad at this 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.