"At kirk nor market I'se ne'er be at, Nor yet a blythe blink in my ee; There's ne'er a ane shall say to anither, That's the lassie gar'd the young man die." 60 Between the yetts o' bonnie Stobha', And the kirkstyle o' bonnie Cargill, There is mony a man and mother's son That was at my luve's burial. OLD ROBIN OF PORTINGALE. Percy's _Reliques of English Poetry_, iii. 88. "From an ancient copy in the Editor's folio MS., which was judged to require considerable corrections. "In the former edition the hero of this piece had been called Sir Robin, but that title not being in the MS. is now omitted. "Giles, steward to a rich old merchant trading to Portugal, is qualified with the title of _Sir_, not as being a knight, but rather, I conceive, as having received an inferior order of priesthood." PERCY. Let never again soe old a man Marrye soe yonge a wife, As did old Robin of Portingale; Who may rue all the dayes of his life. For the mayors daughter of Lin, God wott 5 He chose her to his wife, And thought with her to have lived in love, But they fell to hate and strife. They scarce were in their wed-bed laid, And scarce was hee asleepe, 10 But upp shee rose, and forth shee goes, To the steward, and gan to weepe. "Sleepe you, wake you, faire Sir Gyles? Or be you not within? Sleepe you, wake you, faire Sir Gyles, 15 Arise and let me inn." "O I am waking, sweete," he said, "Sweete ladye, what is your will?" "I have onbethought me of a wile[L19] How my wed lord weel spill. 20 "Twenty-four good knights," shee sayes, "That dwell about this towne, Even twenty-four of my next cozens Will helpe to dinge him downe." All that beheard his litle footepage, 25 As he watered his masters steed; And for his masters sad perille His verry heart did bleed. He mourned, sighed and wept full sore; I sweare by the holy roode, 30 The teares he for his master wept Were blent water and bloude.[L32] And that beheard his deare master As he stood at his garden pale: Sayes, "Ever alacke, my litle foot-page, 35 What causes thee to wail? "Hath any one done to thee wronge, Any of thy fellowes here? Or is any of thy good friends dead, That thou shedst manye a teare? 40 "Or, if it be my head bookes-man, Aggrieved he shal bee: For no man here within my howse Shall doe wrong unto thee."