a deepe deepe grave let downe,
And at her heade a green turfe ylade,
And at her feete a stone!
Then with manye a teare and manye a sighe
Hathe hee hy'd hym on hys waye;
And hee hath come to Carlile towne,
All yclad in blacke arraye.
And now hath he com to the prince's halle,
And lowelye bente hys knee;
"And howe is the ladye Alice so fayre,
My page com telle to mee."
"O, the ladye Alice, so lovelye fayre,
Alas! is deade and gone;
And at her heade is a green grass turfe,
And at her foote a stone.
"The ladye Alice is deade and gone,
And the wormes feede by her syde;
And alle for the love of thee, oh prynce,
That beauteous ladye dy'd.
"And where shee's layde the greene turfe growes,
And a colde grave-stone is there;
But the dew-clad turfe, nor the colde colde stone,
Is not soe colde as her."
Oh then prynce Henrye sad dyd sighe,
Hys hearte alle fulle of woe:
That haplesse prince ybeate hys breaste,
And faste hys teares 'gan flowe.
"And art thou gon, my sweet Alice?
And art thou gone?" hee cry'd:
"Ah woulde to heav'n that I with thee,
My faythful love, had dy'd!
"And have I loste thee, my sweet Alice?
And art thou dead and gon?
And at thy deare heade a green grass turfe,
And at thy foote a stone?
"The turfe that's o'er thy grave, deare Alice!
Sall with my teares bee wet;
And the stone at thy feete sall melte, love,
Ere I will thee forget."
And when the newes cam to merrye Englande
Of the battle in the northe;
Oh then kynge Stephen and hys nobles
So merrylie marched forthe.
And theye have had justes and tournamentes,
And have feasted o'er and o'er;
And merrylie merrylie have they rejoic'd,
For the victorye of Cuton Moore.
But manye a sighe adds to the wynde,
And many a teare to the show're,
And manye a bleedyng hearte hath broke,
For the battle of Cuton Moore.
And manye's the wydowe alle forlorne,
And helplesse orphan poore,
And many's the mayden that sall rue
The victorye of Cuton Moore.
The ladye Alice is layd in her grave,
And a colde stone markes the site;
And many's the mayde like her dothe dye,
Cause kynges and nobles wyll fighte.
The ladye Alice is layde full lowe,
And her mayden teares doe poure,
The manye's the wretche with them sall weepe,
For the victorye of Cuton Moore.
The holye prieste doth weepe as he syngs
Hys masses o'er and o'er;
And alle for the soules of them that were slayne,
At the battle of Cuton Moore.
ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE.
Robin Hood, a celebrated English outlaw, was born at Locksley, in the county of Nottingham, in the reign of Henry II. about 1160. He is said to have been of noble extraction, being the son of William Fitzooth by his wife a daughter of Payn Beauchamp, baron of Bedford, and lady Roisia de Vere, daughter of Aubrey, earl of Guisnes in Normandy,[11] and is frequently styled earl of Huntingdon—a title to which, in the latter part of his life, he actually appears to have had some sort of pretension. In his youth he is said to have been of a wild and extravagant turn; insomuch that, his inheritance being consumed, and his person outlawed for debt,[12] he sought an asylum in the woods of Barnsdale, in Yorkshire,[13] Sherwood, in Nottinghamshire, and, according to some, Plumpton-park, in Cumberland.[14] He either found or was afterwards joined by a number of persons, the principal being Little John (whose surname is said to have been Nailor), William Scadlock (Scathelock or Scarlet), George a Green (pinder or pound-keeper of Wakefield), Much (a miller's son), and a certain monk or friar called Tuck. "These renowned thieves," says Stowe, "continued in the woods, despoiling and robbing the goods of the rich. They killed none but such as would invade them, or by resistance for their own defence. The said Robin entertained 100 tall men, good archers, with such of the spoils and thefts as he got, upon whom 400 (were they ever so strong) durst not give the onset. He suffered no woman to be oppressed, violated, or otherwise molested; poor men's goods he spared, abundantly relieving them with that which by theft he got from abbeys and the houses of rich old carles." He died in 1247; see Robin Hood's Death and Burial, post.
Guy of Gisborne—the only other memorial which I can find relating to him is in an old satirical piece by William Dunbar, a celebrated Scottish poet, of the fifteenth century,[15] on one "Schir Thomas Nory," where he is named along with our hero, Adam Bell, and other worthies, it is conjectured, of a similar stamp, but whose merits have not come to the knowledge of posterity:—
"Was neuir weild Robeine vnder bewch,
Nor
