but downe upon her chamber flore full soone he hath her layd.]
[113] [Ver. 46. when he came nor when he youd.]
[115] [V. 53. awaken quoth hee my master deere.]
[118] [V. 60. when times comes I have need.]
[135] [V. 96. and asked noe man noe leave.]
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's note in the MS. is as follows, "When I first set to examine this I had not yet learnt to hold this old MS. in much regard." Every line is altered, so that it has been necessary to add a copy of the original, although the interest of the ballad itself is not very great. Percy's most notable correction is the introduction of 20 good knights to help Robin against his wife's twenty-four traitors.]
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, By 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 unbethought me of a wile[137] How my wed-lord weell spill.[138] 20
Twenty-four good knights, shee sayes. That dwell about this towne, Even twenty-four of my next cozèns, Will helpe to dinge[139] 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 still, and wept full sore; I sweare by the holy roode 30 The teares he for his master wept Were blent water and bloude.[140]
And that beheard his deare mastèr As he stood at his garden pale: Sayes, Ever alacke, my litle foot-page, 35 What causes thee to wail?