Was spread a cloth of gold, To keep the lady and her maidens, From treading on the mould. When mass was sung, and bells were rung, And all men bound for bed, Then Lord Ingram and Lady Maisry, In one bed they were laid. When they were laid upon their bed, It was baith soft and warm, He laid his hand over her side, Says he, "you are with bairn." (_wean_, child. _garl_, gravel, _marl_, mould.) "I told you once, so did I twice, When ye came as my wooer, That Child Vyet, your one brother, One night lay in my bower!" "I told you twice, so did I thrice, Ere ye came me to wed, That Child Vyet, your one brother, One night lay in my bed!" "O will you father your bairn on me, And on no other man? And I'll gie him to his dowry, Full fifty ploughs of land." "I will not father my bairn on you, Nor on no wrongous man, Tho' you would give him to his dowry, Five thousand ploughs of land." Then up did start him Child Vyet, Shed by his yellow hair, And gave Lord Ingram to the heart, A deep wound and a sair. Then up did start him Lord Ingram, Shed by his yellow hair, And gave Child Vyet to the heart, A deep wound and a sair. (_shed by,_ put back.) There was no pity for the two lords, Where they were lying slain, All was for Lady Maisry: In that bower she gaed brain! There was no pity for the two lords, When they were lying dead, All was for Lady Maisry: In that bower she went mad! "O get to me a cloak of cloth, A staff of good hard tree; If I have been an evil woman, I shall beg till I die. "For ae bit I'll beg for Child Vyet, For Lord Ingram I'll beg three, All for the honourable marriage, that At Mary Kirk he gave me!" (_brain_, mad. _tree_, wood.) ROBIN HOOD AND THE MONK |In summer when the shaws be sheen, And leaves be large and long, It is full merry in fair forest To hear the fowlés song. To see the deer draw to the dale, And leave the hillés high, And shadow them in the leaves green, Under the green-wood tree. It befell on Whitsuntide, Early in a May morning, The sun up fair can shine, And the birdés merry can sing. (_shaws_, wood. _sheen_, bright.) "This is a merry morning," said Little John, "By Him that died on tree; A more merry man then I am one Lives not in Christianté." "Pluck up thy heart, my dear master," Little John can say, "And think it is a full fair time In a morning of May." "The one thing grieves me," said Robin, "And does my heart much woe, That I may not so solemn day To mass nor matins go. "It is a fortnight and more," said he, "Since I my Saviour see; To-day will I to Nottingham," said Robin, "With the might of mild Mary." Then spake Much the miller son, Ever more well him betide,