He sent for a monk, to let him blood, Who took his life away: Now this being done, his archers they run, It was not a time to stay. 80 Some got on board, and cross'd the seas To Flanders, France, and Spain, And others to Rome, for fear of their doom, But soon return'd again. 131, 132. These lines, like the last two of the preceding ballad, refer to _Robin Hood and the Valiant Knight_. THE BIRTH OF ROBIN HOOD. See p. 170. From Buchan's _Ballads of the North of Scotland_, ii. 1. Mony ane talks o' the grass, the grass, And mony ane o' the corn, And mony ane talks o' gude Robin Hood, Kens little whar he was born. He was gotten in a earl's ha', 5 And in a lady's bower, And born into gude greenwood, Thro' mony cauld winter's shower. His father was the earl's own steward, Sprung frae sma' pedigree; 10 His mother, Earl Huntingdon's ae daughter, For he had nane else but she. When nine months were near an end, And eight months they were gone; The lady's cheeks wi' tears were wet, 15 And thus she made her moan:-- "What shall I say, my love, Archibald, This day for you and me? I will be laid in cauld irons, And ye'll be hanged on tree." 20 "What aileth my love Clementina? What gars you mourn sae sair?" "You know," said she, "I'm with child to thee, These eight lang months and mair." "Will ye gae to my mother's bower, 25 Stands on yon stately green? Or will ye gae to the gude greenwood, Where ye will not be seen?" "I winna gang to your mother's bower, Stands on yon stately green; 30 But I will on to gude greenwood, For I will not be seen." He's girt his sword down by his side, Took his lady by the hand; And they are on thro' gude greenwood, 35 As fast as they could gang. With slowly steps these couple walk'd, About miles scarcely three; When this lady, being sair wearied out, Lay down beneath a tree. 40 "O for a few of yon junipers, To cheer my heart again; And likewise for a gude midwife, To ease me of my pain." "I'll bring to you yon junipers, 45 To cheer your heart again; And I'll be to you a gude midwife, To ease you of your pain." "Had far awa' frae me, Archibald, For this will never dee; 50 That's nae the fashion o' our land, And its nae be used by me. "Ye'll take your small sword by your side, Your buckler and your bow; And ye'll gae down thro' gude greenwood, 55 And hunt the deer and roe.