C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
Childe Maurice
By The Ballad
1.
CHILDE MAURICE hunted i’ the silver wood, | He hunted it round about, | And noebodye that he found therein, | Nor none there was without. 2. | He says, “Come hither, thou little foot-page, | That runneth lowlye by my knee, | For thou shalt goe to John Steward’s wife | And pray her speake with me.” 3. | “***** | ***** | I, and greete thou doe that ladye well, | Ever soe well fro me. 4. | “And, as it falls, as many times | As knots beene knit on a kell, | Or marchant men gone to leeve London | Either to buy ware or sell. 5. | “And, as it falles, as many times | As any hart can thinke, | Or schoole-masters are in any schoole-house | Writing with pen and inke: | For if I might, as well as she may, | This night I would with her speake. 6. | “And heere I send her a mantle of greene, | As greene as any grasse, | And bid her come to the silver wood, | To hunt with Child Maurice. 7. | “And there I send her a ring of gold, | A ring of precious stone, | And bid her come to the silver wood, | Let for no kind of man.” 8. | One while this little boy he yode, | Another while he ran, | Until he came to John Steward’s hall, | I-wis he never blan. 9. | And of nurture the child had good, | He ran up hall and bower free, | And when he came to this ladye faire, | Sayes, “God you save and see! 10. | “I am come from Child Maurice, | A message unto thee; | And Child Maurice, he greetes you well, | And ever soe well from me. 11. | “And as it falls, as oftentimes | As knots beene knit on a kell, | Or marchant men gone to leeve London | Either for to buy ware or sell. 12. | “And as oftentimes he greetes you well | As any hart can thinke, | Or schoolemasters are in any schoole, | Wryting with pen and inke. 13. | “And heere he sends a mantle of greene, | As greene as any grasse, | And he bids you come to the silver wood, | To hunt with Child Maurice. 14. | “And heere he sends you a ring of gold, | A ring of the precious stone; | He prayes you to come to the silver wood, | Let for no kind of man.” 15. | “Now peace, now peace, thou little foot-page, | For Christes sake, I pray thee! | For if my lord heare one of these words, | Thou must be hanged hye!” 16. | John Steward stood under the castle wall, | And he wrote the words everye one, | ***** | ***** 17. | And he called upon his hors-keeper, | “Make ready you my steede!” | I, and soe he did to his chamberlaine, | “Make ready thou my weede! 18. | And he cast a lease upon his backe, | And he rode to the silver wood, | And there he sought all about, | About the silver wood. 19. | And there he found him Child Maurice | Sitting upon a blocke, | With a silver combe in his hand, | Kembing his yellow lockes. ***** 20. | But then stood up him Child Maurice, | And sayd these words trulye: | “I doe not know your ladye,” he said, | “If that I doe her see.” 21. | He sayes, “How now, how now, Child Maurice? | Alacke, how may this be? | For thou hast sent her love-tokens, | More now then two or three; 22. | “For thou hast sent her a mantle of greene, | As greene as any grasse, | And bade her come to the silver woode | To hunt with Child Maurice. 23. | “And thou hast sent her a ring of gold, | A ring of precyous stone, | And bade her come to the silver wood, | Let for no kind of man. 24. | “And by my faith, now, Child Maurice, | The tone of us shall dye!” | “Now be my troth,” sayd Child Maurice, | “And that shall not be I.” 25. | But he pulled forth a bright browne sword, | And dryed it on the grasse, | And soe fast he smote at John Steward, | I-wisse he never did rest. 26. | Then he pulled forth his bright browne sword, | And dryed it on his sleeve, | And the first good stroke John Stewart stroke, | Child Maurice head he did cleeve. 27. | And he pricked it on his sword’s poynt, | Went singing there beside, | And he rode till he came to that ladye faire, | Whereas this ladye lyed. 28. | And sayes, “Dost thou know Child Maurice head, | If that thou dost it see? | And lap it soft, and kisse it oft, | For thou lovedst him better than me.” 29. | But when she looked on Child Maurice head, | She never spake words but three:— | “I never beare no childe but one, | And you have slaine him trulye.” 30. | Sayes, “Wicked be my merrymen all, | I gave meate, drinke, and clothe! | But could they not have holden me | When I was in all that wrath! 31. | “For I have slaine one of the curteousest knights | That ever bestrode a steed, | So have I done one of the fairest ladyes | That ever ware woman’s weede!”
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