  The following excellent ballad has been collected from the disjecta membra of the forest minstrelsy of the High Peak, and arranged in its present form, by my friend Mr. William Bennett, of Chapel-en-le-Frith. Mr. Bennett considers, and with good reason, that it has originally formed two distinct ballads, one relating 'Tis merry in the high Peak Forest, Out upon the lea; 'Tis merry in the shady frith, Where birds are whistling free: The heather blooms on Lady low; O'er Combs And the dappled deer are feeding there, Under the Greenwood tree. "Now why amort, bold Robin Hood! And a buck so near at hand: 'Tis easier far to cleave his crown Than a peeled willow wand. A nobler herd ne'er saw I run, Three hundred head and mo: The King won't miss a hart o' grease, If thou use thy good yew bow." "My bow's unstrung, Brian the Bearward! So much the worse for thee: Thou elder likest the twang of the string, Than the deftest minstrelsy: Thou prizest the swish of an arrow keen, When the mark is a buck of head; And liefer than tripping o'er the sward, "Ay, dead and buried," quoth the Bearward, "In the grave of a venison pie: And so wouldst thou, or men thee wrong; For all thou talk'st so high: But if thou durst not fly a shaft, As well as I would fly mine, Tend thou my bear, and lend thy bow; I'll swop my trade for thine." The Bearward strung the bow and shot Four hundred feet him fro: And hit a good fat buck, which fell, Nor lack'd a second blow. "Well shot, shot well," bold Robin cried, "Thou'rt of the greenwood free; At stable stand, or wanlass drift, Thou need'st no lere from me." Then they were ware of six wight yeomen, That lusty were, and tall, Come marching up from Fairfield Beneath the archer's wall; All clad in Lincoln green were they; And on their right arms wore A silver shield, which, in its field, A lion passant bore. "Good morrow, good fellows!" the foremost said, "You are got to work eftsoon, I pray do you hold of the crown in chief, Of stout King Richard the lion's heart Ye should be liegemen good, To break his laws, and kill his deer, Within his own greenwood." "Thou liest now, thou proud spoken keeper! Forever I say thou dost lie: Neither forest walk, nor deer are the King's, As I will well abye. To John of Mortaigne, the deer belong; To John of Mortaigne and me; And my share I'll take, when it me lists, Despite of him or thee." "Why who art thou, thou bold tongued traitor! That durst thus mate with me; And claim one half of the Prince's deer, Despite of his sovereignty? I trou thou'rt one of the Bearward's men, By keeping his company; And I'll make thee dance like a bear from France, If thy tongue not the kinder be." Then on he rushed, with his staff uprais'd, And dealt bold Robin a blow; But he was ware, and stopped him there, With his long and tough yew bow. And Robin put his Horn to his mouth, And blew both loud and shrill; And soon appeared five wight yeomen The first was a man hight Little John, A yeoman good and tall; The next Will Scarlet of gentle blood, Bred up in bower and hall; The third, the minstrel, Alan a Dale, So well with the harp sang he; The fourth was stalwart Clym o' the Clough, And William of Cloudeslie. "Now, hold your hands," bold Robin cried, "Stand by and see fair play; And the keeper and I will try this bout, And see who'll win the day. The Bearward shall lay the dainty buck On this mossy boulder stone; And he that fairly knocks down his foe, The fat buck shall have won." "A match, a match," cried the yeomen all, "Whoever shall say it nay, 'Tis better ye two should fight it out, Than all should join in the fray: So handle your staves, and to it like men, As it may no better be; And he that first brings his man to ground, Shall gain the victory." Then Ralph the Ranger squared his staff, And gloured on Robin the while; The outlaw's staff lay loose in his hands, They stood together like Brothers twain, Good men at their hands and tall; But each seemed loth to begin the strife, Lest he first should have the fall. And round and round each pressed his man, Before he could get a blow; So well on guard, each kept his ward, As they traversed to and fro. With feint and dodge each tried to draw, His wary foeman forth; But both were cool, and cautious too; Like the good men of the north. Bold Robin first his staff let fly, (The challenger was he,) And for the honor of his craft, He must not dastard be. Woe worth the while he dealt the blow, His staff had scarcely flown; When Ralph's came dead athwart his head, And well nigh cracked his crown. He backward gave a step or two, But not one whit dismayed; Though now the Keeper's quarter staff About his shoulders played: His eye was keen, his hand was true, As well the Keeper found; For his staff did knap the Keeper's cap, "The buck is mine," the outlaw said, "Unless thou lik'st to try Which of us twain upon the ground, Can best make arrow fly. For kingly blood ye tend the frith; Ye ought to shoot right well: For mine own hand will I draw a bow, And see who bears the bell." "A match, a match!" cried the yeomen all, "Whoever shall say it nay; Good men ye are if ye shoot a shaft, As ye've handled the staff this day. So fix your mark, and choose your ground, And it may no better be; And he that first cleaves the willow wand, Shall gain the victory." "No willow wand will we have," quoth Robin, "But the Buck's dead glassy eye; And we'll shoot the length of the archer's wall, Seven hundred feet or nigh. So Bearward lay the deer adown On yon mossy boulder stone; And he who lodges a shaft in his eye, The buck was laid on the boulder stone, With his head towards the east; And the yeomen tall, with their bows in hand, To win the guerdon press'd; The Keeper first with wary eye, Took long and careful aim; And hit the buck right yeomanly In the middle of his wame. "Well shot, well shot," bold Robin cried, (But the outlaw laughed the while,) "Right woodmanly that shaft is placed; But a miss is as good as a mile." With careless aim he drew his bow, And let his arrow fly; And lodged the shaft, both hard and fast, In the dead buck's glassy eye. So Robin he won the dainty Buck, By the side of the archer's wall; And left the tale to be sung or said In Tower, and Bower, and Hall. The old gray wall still stands on the hill, Though the archer's marks are gone; And the Boulder Rock is still kept in mind, By the name of old Buckstone. |
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