Robin Hood and the Beggar

"Robin Hood and his fellow, Little John," says Motherwell, "were popular with the minstrels of Scotland as they were with those of England. Our early poets and historians never tired of alluding to songs current in their own times, relative to these waithmen and their merry men. Even to this day there are fragments of songs regarding them, traditionally extant in Scotland, which have not yet found their way into any printed collection of ballads commemorative of these celebrated outlaws. Were they carefully gathered they would form an interesting addition to Ritson's Robin Hood. In that collection, the ballad of Robin Hood and the Beggar is evidently the production of a Scottish minstrel, pretty early stall copies of which were printed both at Aberdeen and Glasgow."—Minstrelsy, p. xliii.

Ritson printed this ballad (Robin Hood, ii. 97,) from a modern copy printed at Newcastle. He remarks that a similar story may be found in Le Moyen de parvenir, (i. 304, ed. 1739, Comment un moine se débarasse des voleurs.)

We have adopted a superior version given by Gutch, which was from an Aberdeen copy in the Ashmolean Museum, without date.—(Gutch's Robin Hood, ii. 233.)

Robin Hood and the Beggar, with the nine pieces which are now immediately subjoined, the first part of the tenth, (which has the same title as the present,) and the first part of Robin Hood and the Stranger, in the Appendix, contains a story essentially the same with the first part of the ancient ballad of Robin Hood and the Potter, p. .

Lyth and listen, gentlemen,
That's come of high born blood,
I'll tell you of a brave booting
That befel Robin Hood.

Robin Hood upon a day,
He went forth alone;
And as he came from Barnesdale
Into fair evening,

He met a beggar on the way,
Who sturdily could gang;
He had a pike-staff in his hand
That was baith stark and strang.

A clouted cloak about him was,
That held him frae the cold;
The thinnest bit of it, I guess,
Was more then twenty fold.

His meal-pock hang about his neck,
Into a leathern fang,
Well fasten'd with a broad buckle,
That was baith stark and strang.

He had three hats upon his head,
Together stickèd fast,
He car'd neither for wind nor weet,
In lands where'er he past.

Good Robin coost him in his way,
To see what he might be,
If any beggar had monèy,
He thought some part had he.

"Tarry, tarry," good Robin says,
"Tarry, and speak with me;"
He heard him as he heard him not,
And fast on his way can hie.

"It be's not so," says good Robin,
"Nay, thou must tarry still;"
"By my troth," said the bold beggar,
"Of that I have no will.

"It is far to my lodging house,
And it is growing late;
If they have supt e'er I come in
I will look wondrous blate."

"Now, by my truth," says good Robin,
"I see well by thy fare,
If thou chear well to thy supper,
Of mine thou takes no care;

"Who wants my dinner all this day,
And wots not where to lie,
And should I to the tavern go,
I want money to buy.

"Sir, thou must lend me some money
Till we two meet again:"
The beggar answer'd cankerdly,
"I have no money to lend.

"Thou art as young a man as I,
And seems to be as sweir;
If thou fast till thou get from me,
Thou shalt eat none this year."

"Now, by my truth," says good Robin,
"Since we are 'sembled so,
If thou have but a small farthing,
I'll have it e'er thou go.

"Therefore, lay down thy clouted cloak,
And do no longer stand,
And loose the strings of all thy pocks,
I'll ripe them with my hand.

"And now to thee I make a vow,
If thou make any din,
I shall see if a broad arrow,
Can pierce a beggar's skin."

The beggar smil'd, and answer made,
"Far better let me be;
Think not that I will be afraid
For thy nip crooked tree.

"Or that I fear thee any whit
For thy curn nips of sticks;
I know no use for them so meet
As to be pudding-pricks.

"Here I defy thee to do me ill,
For all thy boisterous fare;
Thou'st get nothing from me but ill,
Would'st thou seek evermair."

Good Robin bent his noble bow,
He was an angery man,
And in it set a broad arròw;
Yet erst was drawn a span,

The beggar, with his noble tree,
Reach'd him so round a rout,
That his bow and his broad arròw
In flinders flew about.

Good Robin bound him to his brand,
But that prov'd likewise vain,
The beggar lighted on his hand
With his pike-staff again.

I wot he might not draw a sword
For forty days and mair;
Good Robin could not speak a word,
His heart was never so sair.

He could not fight, he could not flee,
He wist not what to do;
The beggar with his noble tree
Laid lusty flaps him to.

He paid good Robin back and side,
And beft him up and down,
And with his pike-staff still laid on hard,
Till he fell in a swoon.

"Fy, stand up, man," the beggar said,
"'Tis shame to go to rest;
Stay still till thou get my money,
I think it were the best.

"And syne go to the tavern house,
And buy both wine and ale;
Hereat thy friends will crack full crouse,
Thou hast been at a dale."

Good Robin answer'd never a word,
But lay still as a stane;
His cheeks were white as any clay,
And closed were his eyen.

The beggar thought him dead but fail,
And boldly bown'd away;—
I would you had been at the dale,
And gotten part of the play.

[the Second Part.]

Now three of Robin's men, by chance,
Came walking by the way,
And found their master in a trance,
On ground where he did lay.

Up have they taken good Robin,
Making a piteous beir,
Yet saw they no man there at whom
They might the matter speir.

They lookèd him all round about,
But wounds on him saw none,
Yet at his mouth came bocking out
The blood of a good vein.

Cold water they have taken syne,
And cast into his face;
Then he began to lift his eyne,
And spake within short space.

"Tell us, dear master," said his men,
"How with you stands the case?"
Good Robin sigh'd e'er he began
To tell of his disgrace.

"I have been watchman in this wood
Near hand this forty year,
Yet I was never so hard bestead
As you have found me here.

"A beggar with a clouted cloak,
In whom I fear'd no ill,
Hath with his pike-staff claw'd my back,
I fear 'twill never be well.

See, where he goes o'er yonder hill,
With hat upon his head;
If e'er you lov'd your master well,
Go now revenge this deed.

"And bring him back again to me,
If it lie in your might,
That I may see, before I die,
Him punisht in my sight.

"And if you may not bring him back,
Let him not go loose on;
For to us all it were great shame
If he escap't again."

"One of us shall with you remain,
Because you're ill at ease,
The other two shall bring him back,
To use him as you please."

"Now, by my troth," says good Robin,
"I trow there's enough said;
If he get scouth to wield his tree,
I fear you'll both be paid."

"Be ye not fear'd, our good master,
That we two can be dung
With any blutter base beggar,
That has nought but a rung.

"His staff shall stand him in no stead;
That you shall shortly see;
But back again he shall be led,
And fast bound shall he be,
To see if ye will have him slain,
Or hangèd on a tree."

"But cast you slily in his way,
Before he be aware,
And on his pike-staff first hands lay,
You'll speed the better far."

Now leave we Robin with his man,
Again to play the child,
And learn himself to stand and gang
By haulds, for all his eild.

Now pass we to the bold beggàr
That rakèd o'er the hill,
Who never mended his pace no more
Nor he had done no ill.

The young men knew the country well,
So soon where he would be,
And they have taken another way,
Was nearer by miles three.

They rudely ran with all their might,
Spared neither dub nor mire,
They started neither at laigh nor hight,
No travel made them tire.

Till they before the beggar wan,
And coost them in his way;
A little wood lay in a glen,
And there they both did stay.

They stood up closely by a tree,
In ilk side of the gate,
Until the beggar came them to,
That thought not of such fate.

And as he was betwixt them past,
They leapt upon him baith;
The one his pike-staff grippèd fast,
They fearèd for its scaith.

The other he held in his sight
A drawen dirk to his breast,
And said, "False carl, quit thy staff,
Or I shall be thy priest."

His pike-staff they have taken him frae,
And stuck it in the green,
He was full loath to let gae,
If better might have been.

The beggar was the feardest man
Of one that ever might be;
To win away no way he can,
Nor help him with his tree.

He wist not wherefore he was tane,
Nor how many was there;
He thought his life-days had been gane,
He grew into despair.

"Grant me my life," the beggar said,
"For him that died on tree,
And take away that ugly knife,
Or then for fear I'll die.

"I griev'd you never in all my life,
Nor late nor yet by ayre,
Ye have great sin, if ye would slay
A silly poor beggàr."

"Thou lies, false lown," they said again,
"By all that may be sworn;
Thou hast near slain the gentlest man
That ever yet was born.

"And back again thou shalt be led,
And fast bound shalt thou be,
To see if he will have thee slain,
Or hangèd on a tree."

The beggar then thought all was wrong;
They were set for his wrack;
He saw nothing appearing then,
But ill upon worse back.

Were he out of their hands, he thought,
And had again his tree,
He should not be had back for nought,
With such as he did see.

Then he bethought him on a wile,
If it could take effect,
How he the young men might beguile,
And give them a begeck.

Thus for to do them shame or ill,
His beastly breast was bent;
He found the wind grew something shril,
To further his intent.

He said, "Brave gentlemen, be good,
And let the poor man be;
When ye have taken a beggar's blood,
It helps you not a flea.

"It was but in my own defence,
If he hath gotten skaith;
But I will make a recompense,
Much better for you baith.

"If ye will set me safe and free,
And do me no dangèr,
An hundred pounds I will you give,
And much more good silvèr,

"That I have gather'd this many years,
Under this clouted cloak,
And hid up [wonder] privately,
In bottom of my pock."

The young men to a council yeed,
And let the beggar gae;
They wist full well he had no speed
From them to run away.

They thought they would the money take,
Come after what so may;
And then they would not bring him back,
But in that place him slay.

By that good Robin would not know
That they had gotten coin;
It would content him for to show
That there they had him slain.

They said, "False carl, soon have done,
And tell forth thy monèy;
For the ill turn that thou hast done
'Tis but a simple fee.

"And yet we will not have thee back,
Come after what so may,
If thou will do that which thou spake,
And make us present pay."

O then he loos'd his clouted cloak,
And spread it on the ground,
And thereon laid he many a pock,
Betwixt them and the wind.

He took a great bag from his hase,
It was near full of meal,
Two pecks in it at least there was,
And more I wot full well.

Upon his cloak he laid it down,
The mouth he open'd wide,
To turn the same he made him bown,
The young men ready spy'd.

In every hand he took a nook
Of that great leathern meal,
And with a fling the meal he shook,
Into their faces hail:

Wherewith he blinded them so close,
A stime they could not see;
And then in heart he did rejoice,
And clapt his lusty tree.

He thought if he had done them wrong,
In mealing of their cloaths,
For to strike off the meal again
With his pike-staff he goes.

Or any of them could red their eyne,
Or could a glimm'ring see,
Ilk one of them a dozen had
Well laid on with the tree.

The young men were right swift of foot,
And boldly ran away,
The beggar could them no more hit,
For all the haste he may.

"What ails this haste?" the beggar said,
"May ye not tarry still,
Until your money be received?
I'll pay you with good will.

"The shaking of my pocks, I fear,
Hath blown into your eyne;
But I have a good pike-staff here
Can ripe them out full clean."

The young men answer'd never a word,
They were dumb as a stane;
In the thick wood the beggar fled,
E'er they riped their eyne.

And syne the night became so late,
To seek him was in vain:
But judge ye, if they lookèd blate,
When they came home again.

Good Robin spear'd how they had sped;
They answer'd him, "Full ill:"
"That cannot be," good Robin says,
"Ye have been at the mill.

"The mill it is a meatrif place,
They may lick what they please;
Most like ye have been at that art,
Who would look to your cloaths."

They hang'd their heads, they dropèd down,
A word they could not speak:
Robin said, "Because I fell a-swoon,
I think you'll do the like.

"Tell on the matter, less or more,
And tell me what and how
Ye have done with the bold beggàr,
I sent you for right now."

And when they told him to an end,
As I have said before,
How that the beggar did them blind,
What misters process more,

And how he lin'd their shoulders broad
With his great trenchen tree,
And how in the thick wood he fled,
E'er they a stime could see,

And how they scarcely could win home,
Their bones were beft so sore,
Good Robin cry'd, "Fy! out, for shame!
We're sham'd for evermore."

Altho' good Robin would full fain
Of his wrong revengèd be,
He smil'd to see his merry young men
Had gotten a taste of the tree.

72,73. Wanting in the original, and restored from the Aberdeen copy. Gutch.

, wonder. Ritson.

, where.

243, 244. These two lines are restored from the Aberdeen ballad. G.