Old Robin Of Portingale Poem Rhyme Scheme

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Let the mayors daughter of Lin God wott	A
He chose her to his wife	B
And thought with her to have lived in love	C
But they fell to hate and strife	B
	-
They scarce were in their wee bed laid	A
And scarce was hee asleepe	D
But upp shee rose and forth shee goes	E
To the steward and gan to weepe	D
	-
'Sleepe you wake you faire Sir Gyles	F
Or be you not within	G
Sleepe you wake you faire Sir Gyles	F
Arise and let me inn '	-
	-
'O I am waking sweete ' he said	A
'Sweete ladye what is your will '	-
'I have unbethought me of a wile	H
How my wed lord weel spill	I
	-
'Twenty four good knights ' shee sayes	F
'That dwell about this towne	J
Even twenty four of my next cozens	F
Will helpe to dinge him downe	J
	-
All that beheard his litle foote page	K
As he watered his masters steed	A
And for his masters sad perille	I
His verry heart did bleed	A
	-
He mourned sighed and wept full sore	L
I sweare by the holy roode	A
The teares he for his master wept	A
Were blent water and bloude	A
	-
And that beheard his deare master	M
As he stood at his garden pale	I
Sayes 'Ever alacke my litle footpage	K
What causes thee to wail	I
	-
'Hath any one done to thee wronge	K
Any of thy fellowes here	N
Or is any of thy good friends dead	A
That thou shedst manye a teare	N
	-
'Or if it be my head bookes man	O
Aggrieved he shal bee	P
For no man here within my howse	F
Shall doe wrong unto thee '	-
	-
'O it is not your head bookes man	O
Nor none of his degree	P
But on to morrow ere it be noone	Q
All deemed to die are yee	P
	-
'And of that bethank your head steward	A
And thank your gay ladye '	-
'If this be true my litle foot page	K
The heyre of my land thoust bee '	-
	-
'If it be not true my dear master	M
No good death let me die '	-
'If it be not true thou litle foot page	K
A dead corse shalt thou lie	I
	-
'O call now downe my faire ladye	P
O call her downe to mee	P
And tell my ladye gay how sicke	R
And like to die I bee '	-
	-
Downe then came his ladye faire	S
All clad in purple and pall	I
The rings that were on her fingers	F
Cast light throughout the hall	I
	-
'What is your will my owne wed lord	A
What is your will with mee '	-
'O see my ladye deere how sicke	R
And like to die I bee '	-
	-
'And thou be sicke my owne wed lord	A
Soe sore it grieveth me	P
But my five maydens and myselfe	B
Will 'watch thy' bedde for thee	P
	-
'And at the waking of your first sleepe	D
We will a hott drinke make	R
And at the waking of your 'next' sleepe	D
Your sorrowes we will slake '	-
	-
He put a silk cote on his backe	R
And mail of many a fold	A
And hee putt a steele cap on his head	A
Was gilt with good red gold	A
	-
He layd a bright browne sword by his side	A
And another att his feete	A
'And twentye good knights he placed at hand	A
To watch him in his sleepe '	-
	-
And about the middle time of the night	A
Came twentye four traitours inn	G
Sir Giles he was the foremost man	O
The leader of that ginn	G
	-
Old Robin with his bright browne sword	A
Sir Gyles head soon did winn	G
And scant of all those twenty four	L
Went out one quick agenn	G
	-
None save only a litle foot page	K
Crept forth at a window of stone	G
And he had two armes when he came in	G
And he went back with one	G
	-
Upp then came that ladye gaye	P
With torches burning bright	A
She thought to have brought Sir Gyles a drinke	R
Butt she found her owne wedd knight	A
	-
The first thinge that she stumbled on	G
It was Sir Gyles his foote	A
Sayes 'Ever alacke and woe is mee	P
Here lyes my sweete hart roote '	-
	-
The next thinge that she stumbled on	G
It was Sir Gyles his heade	A
Sayes 'Ever alacke and woe is mee	P
Heere lyes my true love deade '	-
	-
He cutt the papers beside her brest	A
And didd her body spille	I
He cutt the eares beside her heade	A
And bade her love her fille	I
	-
He called then up his litle foot page	K
And made him there his heyre	L
And sayd 'Henceforth my worldlye goodes	F
And countrye I forsweare '	-
	-
He shope the crosse on his right shoulder	L
Of the white 'clothe' and the redde	A
And went him into the Holy Land	A
Wheras Christ was quicke and dead	A

Anonymous Olde English

Old Robin Of Portingale Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

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