Source: William Copland's A Mery Geste of Robyn Hoode and of Hys Lyfe
(British Library copy, press mark C.21.C.63)
Here beginnethe the Playe of Robyn Hoode, verye proper to be played in Maye Games |
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[Enter Robin Hood and his men.] |
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Robyn Hode Lytell John |
Now stand ye forth my mery men all, And harke what I shall say; Of an adventure I shal you tell, The which befell this other day. As I went by the hygh way, With a stoute frere I met, And a quarter staffe in his hande. Lyghtely to me he lept, And styll he bade me stande. There were strypes two or three, But I cannot tell who had the worse; But well I wote the horeson lepte within me And fro me he toke my purse. Is there any of my mery men all That to that frere wyll go, And bryng him to me forth withall, Whether he wyll or no? Yes, mayster, I make God avowe, To that frere wyll I go, And bryng him to you, Whether he wyl or no. |
listen a thick pole Quickly blows son of a whore |
[Exit Robin Hood and his men. Enter Friar Tuck with three dogs.] |
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Fryer Tucke |
Deus hic! Deus hic! God be here! Is not this a holy worde for a frere? God save all this company! But am not I a jolly fryer? For I can shote both farre and nere, And handle the sworde and buckler, And this quarter staffe also. If I mete with a gentylman or yeman, I am not afrayde to loke hym upon, Nor boldly with him to carpe; If he speake any wordes to me, He shall have strypes two or thre, That shal make his body smarte. But, maister, to shew you the matter Wherfore and why I am come hither, In fayth I wyl not spare, I am come to seke a good yeman, In Barnisdale men sai is his habitacion. His name is Robyn Hode, And if that he be better man than I, His servaunt wyll I be, and serve him truely; But if that I be better man than he, By my truth my knave shall he be, And lead these dogges all three. |
God be here!; (see note) (see note) small round shield talk blows with the staff (see note) male servant (see note) |
[Enter Robin Hood seizing the friar by the throat.] |
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Robyn Hode Fryer Tucke Robyn Hode |
Yelde the, fryer, in thy long cote. I beshrew thy hart, knave, thou hurtest my throt. I trowe, fryer, thou beginnest to dote: Who made the so malapert and so bolde To come into this forest here Amonge my falowe dere? |
Yield curse believe; act foolishly impudent yellow-brown deer |
[Friar Tuck shakes off Robin Hood.] |
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Fryer Tucke Robyn Hode Fryer Tucke Robyn Hode Fryer Tucke Robyn Hode Fryer Tucke Robyn Hode |
Go louse the, ragged knave. If thou make mani wordes, I wil geve the on the eare, Though I be but a poore fryer. To seke Robyn Hode I am com here, And to him my hart to breke. Thou lousy frer, what wouldest thou with hym? He never loved fryer nor none of freiers kyn. Avaunt, ye ragged knave! Or ye shall have on the skynne. Of all the men in the morning thou art the worst, To mete with the I have no lust; For he that meteth a frere or a fox in the morning, To spede ell that day he standeth in jeoperdy. Therefore I had lever mete with the devil of hell, Fryer, I tell the as I thinke, Then mete with a fryer or a fox In a mornyng, or I drynke. Avaunt, thou ragged knave, this is but a mock! If you make mani words, you shal have a knock. Harke, frere, what I say here; Over this water thou shalt me bere; The brydge is borne away. To say naye I wyll not; To let the of thine oth it were great pitie and sin; But upon a fryers backe and have even in. Nay, have over. |
delouse yourself hit reveal my intentions (see note) Go away; base rogue be hit desire (see note) To prosper badly rather before I drink Go away (see note) |
[Robin Hood climbs on the Friar's back.] |
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Fryer Tucke |
Now am I, frere, within, and, thou, Robin, without, To lay the here I have no great doubt. |
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[Friar Tuck throws Robin Hood.] |
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Robyn Hode Fryer Tucke Robyn Hode Fryer Tucke Robyn Hode Fryer Tucke Robyn Hode Fryer Tucke Robyn Hode Fryer Tucke Robyn Hode Fryer Tucke Robyn Hode Fryer Tucke Robyn Hode Fryer Tucke Robyn Hode Lytell John Robyn Hode Lytell John Jacke Robyn Hode Jacke Robyn Hode Jacke The Potter Jacke The Potter Robyn Hode The Potter Robyn Hode The Potter Robyn Hode The Potter Robyn Hode Lyttell John |
Now art thou, Robyn, without, and I, frere, within, Lye ther, knave; chose whether thou wilte sinke or swym. Why, thou lowsy frere, what hast thou doon? Mary, set a knave over the shone. Therfore thou abye. Why, wylt thou fyght a plucke? And God send me good lucke. Than have a stroke for Fryer Tucke. [They fight.] Holde thy hande, frere, and here me speke. Saye on, ragged knave, Me semeth ye begyn to swete. In this forest I have a hounde, I wyl not give him for an hundreth pound: Geve me leve my horne to blowe, That my hounde may knowe. Blowe on, ragged knave, without any doubte, Untyll bothe thyne eyes starte out. [Robin Hood blows his horn; his men enter.] Here be a sorte of ragged knaves come in, Clothed all in Kendale grene, And to the they take their way nowe. Peradventure they do so. I gave the leve to blowe at thy wyll; Now give me leve to whistell my fyll. Whystell, frere, evyl mote thou fare! Untyll bothe thyne eyes starte. [The Friar whistles.] Now Cut and Bause! Breng forth the clubbes and staves, And downe with those ragged knaves. [They all fight.] How sayest thou, frere, wylt thou be my man, To do me the best servyse thou can? Thou shalt have both golde and fee. And also here is a lady free: [Enter the Lady.] I wyll geve her unto the, And her chapplayn I the make To serve her for my sake. Here is an huckle duckle, An inch above the buckle. She is a trul of trust, To serve a frier at his lust, A prycker, a prauncer, a terer of shetes, A wagger of ballockes when other men slepes. Go home, ye knaves, and lay crabbes in the fyre, For my lady and I wil daunce in the myre, For veri pure joye. [A dance.] * * * * * * * * * * Lysten to me my mery men all And harke what I shall say Of an adventure I shall you tell That befell this othere daye. With a proude potter I met; And a rose garlande on his head, The floures of it shone marvaylous freshe. This seven yere and more he hath used this waye, Yet was he never so curteyse a potter As one peny passage to paye. Is there any of my mery men all That dare be so bolde To make the potter paie passage either silver or golde? Not I, master, for twenty pound redy tolde. For there is not among us al one That dare medle with that potter man for man. I felt his handes not long agone, But I had lever have ben here by the. Therfore I knowe what he is; Mete hem when ye wil or mete him whan ye shal He is as propre a man as ever you medle withal. I wil lai with the, Litel John, twenti pound so read, If I wyth that potter mete I wil make him pay passage, maugré his head. I consente therto, so eate I bread; If he pay passage, maugré his head, Twenti pound shall ye have of me for your mede. [Robin's men leave. Enter Jack the potter's boy.] Out alas that ever I sawe this day! For I am clene out of my waye From Notygham towne. If I hye me not the faster, Or I come there the market wel be done. Let me se, are the pottes hole and sounde? [Robin throws a pot to the ground.] Yea, meister, but they will not breake the ground. I wil them breke for the cuckold thi maister's sake; And if they will breake the grounde, Thou shalt have thre pence for a pound. [Robin breaks more pots.] Out alas! What have ye done? If my maister come, he will breke your crown. [The potter enters.] Why, thou horeson, art thou here yet? Thou shouldest have bene at market. I met with Robin Hode, a good yeman; He hath broken my pottes, And called you kuckolde by your name. Thou mayst be a gentylman, so God me save, But thou semest a noughty knave. Thou callest me cuckolde by my name, And I swere by God and Saynt John, Wyfe had I never none: This cannot I denye. But if thou be a good felowe, I wil sel mi horse, mi harneis, pottes and paniers to, Thou shalt have the one halfe, and I wil have the other. If thou be not so content, Thou shalt have stripes, if thou were my brother. Harke, potter, what I shall say; This seven yere and more thou hast used this way, Yet were thou never curteous to me As one penny passage to paye. Why should I paye passage to thee? For I am Robyn Hode, chiefe governoure Under the grene woode tree. This seven yere have I used this way up and downe, Yet payed I passage to no man; Nor now I wyl not beginne, to do the worst thou can. Passage shalt thou pai, here under the grene wode tre, Or els thou shalt leve a wedded with me. If thou be a good felowe, as men do the call, Laye awaye thy bowe, And take thy sword and buckeler in thy hande, And se what shall befall. Lyttle John, where art thou? Here, mayster, I make God avowe. I told you, mayster, so God me save, That you should fynde the potter a knave. Holde your buckeler [fast in your hand], And I wyll styfly by you stande, Ready for to fyghte; Be the knave never so stoute, I shall rappe him on the snoute, And put hym to flyghte. [A fight follows, and the text ends.] Thus endeth the play of Robyn Hode |
(see note) put a fool in your shoes shall suffer the consequences bout with clubs It seems to me (see note) bulge (see note) Perhaps permission may (see note) (see note) chaplain (see note) (see note) trollop or prostitute A rider; a tearer of sheets; (see note) testicles iron trivets soft mud; (see note) (see note) (see note) (see note) toll rather good; (see note) bet; red; (see note) against his will reward (see note) hurry Before bastard naughty; (see note) (see note) (see note) (see note) forfeit (see note) |
Imprinted at London upon the Crane wharf by Wyllyam Copland |