Project Gutenberg Book of English Verse | Page 8

the be;
Nay, lat be that! sche knew wel that this y1e
May
never man forth brynge lyk to the,
And hir office needes do mot she:

God bad hir so, I truste as for the beste;
O maister, maister, God thi
soule reste!
hier] heir. combre-worlde] encumberer of earth. slow] slew.
John Lydgate. 1370?-1450?
14. Vox ultima Crucis
TARYE no lenger; toward thyn heritage
Hast on thy weye, and be of
ryght good chere.
Go eche day onward on thy pylgrymage;
Thynke
howe short tyme thou hast abyden here.
Thy place is bygged above
the sterres clere,
Noon erthly palys wrought in so statly wyse.

Come on, my frend, my brother most entere!
For the I offered my
blood in sacryfice.
bygged] built. palys] palace.
King James I of Scotland. 1394-1437
15. Spring Song of the Birds
WORSCHIPPE ye that loveris bene this May,
For of your blisse the
Kalendis are begonne,
And sing with us, Away, Winter, away!
Cum,
Somer, cum, the suete sesoun and sonne!
Awake for schame! that
have your hevynnis wonne,
And amorously lift up your hedis all,

Thank Lufe that list you to his merci call!
suete] sweet. Lufe] Love.
Robert Henryson. 1425-1500
16. Robin and Makyne

ROBIN sat on gude green hill,
Kepand a flock of fe:
Mirry Makyne
said him till
'Robin, thou rew on me:
I haif thee luvit, loud and still,

Thir yeiris twa or thre;
My dule in dern bot gif thou dill,
Doutless
but dreid I de.'
Robin answerit 'By the Rude
Na thing of luve I knaw,
But keipis
my scheip undir yon wud:
Lo, quhair they raik on raw.
Quhat has
marrit thee in thy mude,
Makyne, to me thou shaw;
Or quhat is luve,
or to be lude?
Fain wad I leir that law.'
'At luvis lair gif thou will leir
Tak thair ane A B C;
Be heynd,
courtass, and fair of feir,
Wyse, hardy, and free:
So that no danger
do thee deir
Quhat dule in dern thou dre;
Preiss thee with pain at all
poweir
Be patient and previe.'
Robin answerit hir agane,
'I wat nocht quhat is lufe;
But I haif
mervel in certaine
Quhat makis thee this wanrufe:
The weddir is
fair, and I am fain;
My scheip gois haill aboif;
And we wald prey us
in this plane,
They wald us baith reproif.'
'Robin, tak tent unto my tale,
And wirk all as I reid,
And thou sall
haif my heart all haill,
Eik and my maiden-heid:
Sen God sendis
bute for baill,
And for murnyng remeid,
In dern with thee bot gif I
daill
Dowtles I am bot deid.'
'Makyne, to-morn this ilka tyde
And ye will meit me heir,

Peraventure my scheip may gang besyde,
Quhyle we haif liggit full
neir;
But mawgre haif I, and I byde,
Fra they begin to steir;

Quhat
lyis on heart I will nocht hyd;
Makyn, then mak gude cheir.'
'Robin, thou reivis me roiff and rest;
I luve bot thee allane.'

'Makyne, adieu! the sone gois west,
The day is neir-hand gane.'

'Robin, in dule I am so drest
That luve will be my bane.'
'Ga luve,
Makyne, quhair-evir thow list,
For lemman I luve nane.'

'Robin, I stand in sic a styll,
I sicht and that full sair.'
'Makyne, I
haif been here this quhyle;
At hame God gif I wair.'
'My huny,
Robin, talk ane quhyll,
Gif thow will do na mair.'
'Makyn, sum
uthir man begyle,
For hamewart I will fair.'
Robin on his wayis went
As light as leif of tre;
Makyne murnit in
hir intent,
And trowd him nevir to se.
Robin brayd attour the bent:

Then Makyne cryit on hie,
'Now may thow sing, for I am schent!

Quhat alis lufe at me?'
Makyne went hame withowttin fail,
Full wery eftir cowth weip;

Then Robin in a ful fair daill
Assemblit all his scheip.
Be that sum
part of Makynis aill
Out-throw his hairt cowd creip;
He fallowit hir
fast thair till assaill,
And till her tuke gude keip.
'Abyd, abyd, thow fair Makyne,
A word for ony thing;
For all my
luve, it sall be thyne,
Withowttin departing.
All haill thy hairt for
till haif myne
Is all my cuvating;
My scheip to-morn, quhyle houris
nyne,
Will neid of no keping.'
'Robin, thow hes hard soung and say,
In gestis and storeis auld,
The
man that will nocht quhen he may
Sall haif nocht quhen he wald.
I
pray to Jesu every day,
Mot eik thair cairis cauld
That first preissis
with thee to play
Be firth, forrest, or fauld.'
'Makyne, the nicht is soft and dry,
The weddir is warme and fair,

And the grene woid rycht neir us by
To walk attour all quhair:

Thair ma na janglour us espy,
That is to lufe contrair;
Thairin,
Makyne, baith ye and I,

Unsene we ma repair.'
'Robin, that warld is all away,
And quyt brocht till ane end:
And
nevir agane thereto, perfay,
Sall it be as thow wend;
For of my pane
thow maid it play;
And all in vane I spend:
As thow hes done, sa
sall I say,
"Murne on, I think to mend."'

'Makyne, the howp of all my heill,
My hairt on thee is sett;
And
evirmair to thee be leill
Quhill I may leif but lett;
Never to faill as
utheris feill,
Quhat grace that evir I gett.'
'Robin, with thee I will
nocht deill;
Adieu! for thus we mett.'
Makyne went hame blyth anneuche
Attour the holttis hair;
Robin
murnit, and Makyne leuche;
Scho