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'Now I begyn

So that ye me answere;

Wherefore, all ye that present be,

I pray you, gyve an ere.

In order to try the maid's affection, the lover tells her that he is condemned to a shameful death, and must withdraw as an outlaw:

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He urges that she will have no wine or ale, no shelter but the trees, no society but their enemies, finally that another already

awaits him in the forest whom he loves better; still her constancy is unshaken, and in noble admiration he confesses:

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Whan men wyll breke promyse, they speke Now undyrstande; to Westmarlande,

The wordes on the splene.

Ye shape some wyle me to begyle,

And stele from me, I wene:

Than were the case worse than it was,

And I more wo-begone:

For, in my mynde, of all mankynde

I love but you alone.

Which is myne herytage,

I wyll you brynge, and with a rynge

By way of maryage

I wyll you take, and lady make,

As shortely as I can:

Thus have you now an erlys son
And not a banyshed man.'

Wherefore pay your tribute to the beautiful, notwithstanding the free insinuations of the cynic, for,

Here may ye se, that women be
In love, meke, kynde, and stable:
Late never man reprove them then,
Or call them variable:

But, rather, pray God, that we may
To them be comfortable."

We all need something to idealize. Science, literature, art, music, all work that way, this for one, that for another. In the popular ideal, you will discover the national character. Here it is Robin Hood, living in the green forest free and bold, ready to draw his bow in the sheriff's face; generous, compassionate, giving to the poor the spoils of the rich; religious, after the fashion,

'A good maner then had Robyn

In land where that he were,

Every daye ere he wolde dine
Three masses wolde he hear;'

chivalrous withal, for the worship of the Virgin softens the temper of the outlaw,—

'Robyn loved our dere lady;

For doute of dedely synne,

Would he never do company harme

That ony woman was ynne.'

Before all, fearless and valiant, and joyously so, the champion of the commons against oppression, civil and ecclesiastical. 'It is he,' says an old historian, whom the common people love so dearly to celebrate in games and comedies, and whose history, sung by fiddlers, interests them more than any other.' Robin dreams, in the greenwood where he lay,' that two yeomen are thrashing him, and he wants to go and find them, repulsing Little John, who offers to lead the way:

"Ah! John, by me thou settest noe store,

And that I farley finde;

How offt send I my men beffore,

And tarry my selfe behinde?""

He goes alone, and meets the brave Guy of Gisborne:

"Good morrow, good fellow," said Robin so fair,

"Good morrow, good fellow," quoth he,

"Methinks by the bow thou bearest in thy hand,
A good archer thou shouldst be."

"I am wandering from my way," quoth the yeoman,
"And of my morning tide."

"I'll lead thee thro' the wood," said Robin,

"Good fellow, I'll be thy guide."

"I seek an outlaw," the stranger said,

"Men call him Robin Hood,

Rather I'd meet with that proud outlaw

Than forty pound so good."

"Now come with me, thou lusty yeoman,

And Robin thon soon shall see:

But first, let us some pastime find,

Under the greenwood tree."

"Now tell me thy name, good fellow," quoth he,

"Under the leaves of lime."

"Nay, by my faith," quoth bold Robin,

"Till thou hast told me thine."

"I dwell by dale and down," quoth he,

"And Robin to take I'm sworn,

And when I'm called by my right name,

I'm Guy of good Gisborne."

"My dwelling is in this wood," says Robin,

"By thee I set right nought;

I am Robin Hood of Barnesdale,

Whom thou so long hast sought."

He that to neither were kith or kin

Might have seen a full fair sight,

To see how together these yeomen went,

With blades both brown and bright.

To see how these yeomen together they fought,

Two hours of a summer's day;

Yet neither Sir Guy nor Robin Hood

Them settled to fly away.'

These redoubtable archers fight very amicably, jovially, hating only traitors and tyrants. Bold Robin is the representative of a class who revel in fighting as a pastime. An honest exchange af blows, whoever is worsted, always prepares the way for fellowship and respect:

"I pass not for length," bold Arthur reply'd,

"My staff is of oke so free;

Eight foot and a half, it will knock down a calf,

And I hope it will knock down thee."

Then Robin could no longer forbear,

He gave him such a knock,

Quickly and soon the blood came down
Before it was ten a clock.

Then Arthur he soon recovered himself

And gave him such a knock on the crown,

That from every side of bold Robin Hood's head
The blood came trickling down.

Then Robin raged like a wild boar,

As soon as he saw his own blood:

Then Bland was in hast, he laid on so fast,

As though he had been cleaving of wood.

And about and about and about they went,
Like two wild bores in a chase,

Striving to aim each other to maim,

Leg, arm, or any other place.

And knock for knock they lustily dealt,

Which held for two hours and more,

Till all the wood rang at every bang,

They plyed their work so sore.

"Hold thy hand, hold thy hand," said Robin Hood,

"And let thy quarrel fall;

For here we may thrash our bones all to mesh,

And get no coyn at all.

And in the forest of merry Sherwood,

Hereafter thou shalt be free."

"God a mercy for nought, my freedom I bought,

I may thank my staff, and not thee."

When the bandit and his antagonists have fought to the defeat of one or the satisfaction of all, they embrace, or shake hands, then dance together on the green grass:

Then Robin took them both by the hands,

And danc'd round about the oke tree,

"For three merry men, and three merry men,
And three merry men we be."

Will the discontent of such men be overlooked? They conquer and maintain liberty by their native roughness. Upon the haughtiest prince they impose a restraint stronger than any which mere

laws can impose. He may overstep the constitutional line; but they will exercise the like privilege whenever his encroachments are so serious as to excite alarm.

Prose. No expansion of prose is possible, until the realities of life, political, social, and ecclesiastical, can be safely discussed. Thought was restrained in too many ways to allow much range of exercise beyond the unsubstantial realm of poetry. Hence the prose writers of the period are not numerous, and, with few exceptions, are unimportant. It is worthy of remark, however, that they exhibit three new kinds of composition,-epistolary, politi. cal, and æsthetic.

The Paston Letters, written chiefly by persons of rank and condition, contain many curious specimens of correspondence belonging to this and the preceding century. They are unique, and give an interesting picture of social life. In one, for example, we have a glimpse of the state of the Norfolk coast:

On Saturday last past, Dravall, half-brother to Warren Harman, was taken with enemies walking by the sea-side; and they have him forth with them, and they took two pilgrims, a man and a woman. . . . God give grace that the sea may be better kept than it is now, or else it shall be a perilous dwelling by the seacoast."

One of the remarkable features of the age was the incessant litigation. Agnes Paston writes to one of her sons:

I greet you well, and advise you to think once of the day of your father's counsel to learn the law, for he said many times that whosoever should dwell at Paston should have need to con to defend himself."

One of the Pastons is reproved for his extravagance in dress and

servants:

It is the guise of your countrymen to spend all the goods they have on men and livery gowns, and horse and harness, and so bear it out for a while, and at the last they are but beggars.'

It would appear that in what least concerns others, others most assiduously, then as now, intermeddled,

The queen came into this town on Tuesday last past, afternoon, and abode here till it was Thursday afternoon; and she sent after my cousin Elizabeth Clerc, to come to her: and she durst not disobey her commandment, and came to her. And when she came in the queen's presence, the queen made right much of her, and desired her to have an husband, the which ye shall know of hereafter. But as for that he is never nearer than he was before.

It seems to have been dangerous to write freely; and an opinion upon passing events or the characters of men was usually supplemented by some such sentence as,

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