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OLD ROBIN OF FORTINGALE |
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VII
With that beheard his little foot-page, Was watering his master's steed ;
Soe [sore a hearing it was to him] His very heart did bleed.
VIII
He mourned, sikt, and wept full sore;
I swear by the Holy Rood The teares he for his master wept
Were blent water and bloude.
IX
With that beheard his dear master
As he in his garden sate; Sayes, ' Ever alack, my little page,
What causes thee to weepe ?
x ' Hath any one done to thee wronge,
Any of thy fellowes here ? Or is any of thy good friends dead,
What makes thee shed such teares ?
XI
' Or if it be my head-cookes-man
Griev'd againe he shall be, Nor noe man within my house
Shall doe wrong unto thee.'—
XII
' But it is not your head-cookes-man,
Nor none of his degree; But or tomorrow, ere it be noone
You are deemed to die.
sikt] sighed. againe] in return. deemed] doomed.
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