Classic Poem

PART I

'Twas all within Redcastle's towers,
So merry was the nyght;
Kyng James, our sov'reign liege was there
Wyth peers of stalwart myght.

And they did quaffe the gude brown ale
In cuppes of gold so sheen;
And they did sing the minstrelle's song
Of deeds that erst had been.

Up spake the kyng with kyndlie hearte,
And eke with meikle grace;
" Whae'er hath oughte of grief to tell,
Now tell it to mie face.

" For whilome in mie prison pent
Bie Henrie's yron hand,
I heard the tales of lethal strife
Wythin mie Scottish land.

" Now woe betyde the man wha strives
In angry raid and feud!
Hym shall we hang on gallows tree
Wha scaiths hys neyghbour's gude. "

" Mie liege, " quod ane of gloomy speeche
(Which struck them alle wyth awe)
" I claim the freedom whych ye gyve,
And bryng the loon to lawe.

" The Sheriffe of our Merne's land
Is ane of wycked hearte,
And many a wyfe bye his misdeeds,
Hath borne a wydowe's parte:

" For he hath ta'en the laird's best steed,
And the ladie's golden ryng:
And all he saith, in guerdon due
To James our sovereign kyng. "

" Now, " quod the kyng, in wrathful haste
And choler hotte as flame,
" What manne is he wha synneth so,
And in hys sovereign's name?

" It bootes me not to speer hys kyn —
A traytour false is he: —
I care ne though the loon was seethed,
And suppit wyth the brie. "

Ne mair the knyght did staie to hear,
But up he got wyth speed,
And, calling to his servaunt, sed,
" Make haste and bryng mie steed. "

Hys coal-black steed he vaulted onne,
And prycked hys flanks full sore,
Untyll thae were besprent and wet
So grievous all wyth gore.

And now he came besyde the Eske —
Ane ryver deepe and wyde;
He plunged hym in and rode the streame,
Dysdaining wynd and tyde.

And now he came to Merne's land
And faster does he scoure,
Untyll behind the green-clad woddes
He marketh Mathers tower.

Hys ladye sate within her room,
So gaudie and so gaie;
She waited for her dear husbande,
And marvelled at hys stare.

" Oh tell me now, mie Marian lass, "
Unto her maid quod she,
" Where dost thou think mie husband is?
He cometh not to me. "

But when that she had spoken so,
Certes thae both dyd hear
Ane horsemanne gallop on the waie,
Who now approaches near.

'Twas Luath first that made a growl
When he the sound dyd marke;
And then to meet his maister dear
He ran, and eke dyd bark.

The knyght stops at the castle doore —
The ladie runs to hym;
" Gyve me a juge of wyne, " quod he;
" Mie head begyns to swym. "

" O where, O where! " the ladye cryed,
" Hath mie true husband been?
I trow 'twas at the Maison Dieu,
Or at Seyncte Magdalene.

" And sure the Freers have started thee
Wyth tales of dool and woe;
I never saw thee look so wyld,
It therefore must be so. "

" Ladie, " quod he, " I hate the Freers,
And all the tales thae tell;
Thaer Kirkzard sprites confound me not,
I fear nae ghaist frae hell.

" Thae call me aye the gloomy knyght;
I was not born to laugh.
Gyn I have frowned thys parte of life,
I'll frown the other half. "

Now, he hath told hys servying manne
To wake hym from his bedde,
Soon as Dan Sol upon the sea
Should shew hys golden hedde.

But ne'er a word dyd he reveal
Unto hys ladie dear
Of what he was to do next morn —
Though you shall quickly hear.