Robene and Makyne
Robene sat on gud grene hill
Kepand a flok of fe;
Mirry Makyne said him till,
“Robene, thow rew on me!
I haif the lovit lowd and still
Thir yeiris two or thre;
My dule in dern bot gif thow dill,
Dowtles but dreid I de.”
Robene anserit, “Be the Rude,
Na thing of lufe I knaw,
Bot keipis my scheip undir yone wid;
Lo quhair thay raik on raw.
Quhat hes marrit the in thy mude,
Makyne, to me thow schaw,
Or quhat is lufe, or to be lude?
Fane wald I leir that law.”
“At luvis lair gife thow will leir,
Tak thair ane A B C:
Be heynd, courtas, and fair of feir,
Wyse, hardy, and fre,
So that no denger do the deir,
Quhat dule in dern thow dre;
Preis the with pane at all poweir,
Be patient and previe.”
Robene anserit hir agane,
“I wait nocht quhat is luve,
Bot I haif mervell in certane
Quhat makis the this wanrufe.
The weddir is fair and I am fane,
My scheip gois haill aboif;
And we wald play, us in this plane,
Thay wald us bayth reproif.”
“Robene, tak tent unto my taill
And wirk all as I reid,
And thow sall haif my hairt all haill,
Eik and my madinheid.
Sen God sendis bute for baill,
And for murning remeid,
I dern with the bot gif I daill,
Dowtles I am bot deid.”
“Makyne, to morne this ilk a tyde,
And ye will meit me heir,
Peraventure my scheip ma gang besyd
Quhill we haif liggit full neir.
Bot mawgre haif I and I byd,
Fra thay begin to steir;
Quhat lyis on hairt I will nocht hyd,
Makyn, than mak gud cheir.”
“Robene, thow reivis me roif and rest;
I luve bot the allone.”
“Makyne, adew, the sone gois west,
The day is neir hand gone.”
“Robene, in dule I am so drest
That lufe wilbe my bone.”
“Ga lufe, Makyne, quhair evir thow list,
For lemman I bid none.”
“Robene, I stand in sic a styll;
I sicht, and that full sair.
‘Makyne, I haif bene heir this quhyle;
At hame God gif I wair.”
“My huny Robene, talk ane quhyll,
Gif thow will do na mair.”
“Makyne, sum uthir man begyle,
For hamewart I will fair.”
Robene on his wayis went, Als licht as leif of tre;
Mawkin murnit in hir intent,
And trowd him nevir to se.
Robene brayd attour the bent;
Than Mawkyne cryit on hie,
“Now ma thow sing, for I am schent;
Quhat alis lufe at me?”
Mawkyne went hame withowttin faill,
Full wery eftir cowth weip.
Than Robene in a ful fair daill
Assemblit all his scheip;
Be that, sum pairte of Mawkynis aill
Outthrow his hairt cowd creip.
He fallowit hir fast thair till assaill,
And till hir tuke gude keip:
“Abyd, abyd, thow fair Makyne
A word for ony thing!
For all my luve it salbe thyne,
Withowttin depairting:
All haill thy harte for till haif myne
Is all my cuvating;
My scheip to morne quhill houris nyne
Will neid of no keping.”
“Robene, thow hes hard soung and say
In gestis and storeis auld,
‘The man that will nocht quhen he may
Sall haif nocht quhen he wald.’
I pray to Jesu every day,
Mot eik thair cairis cauld
That first preisis with the to play,
Be firth, forrest, or fawld.”
“Makyne, the nicht is soft and dry,
The wedder is warme and fair,
And the grene woid rycht neir us by
To walk attour all quhair;
Thair ma na janglour us espy,
That is to lufe contrair:
Thairin, Makyne, bath ye and I,
Unsene we ma repair.”
“Robene, that warld is all away
And quyt brocht till ane end,
And nevir agane thairto perfay
Sall it be as thow wend,
For of my pane thow maid it play,
And all in vane I spend;
As thow hes done, sa sall I say,
‘Murne on, I think to mend.'”
“Mawkyne, the howp of all my heill,
My hairt on the is sett,
And evirmair to the be leill
Quhill I may leif but lett;
Nevir to faill as uthiris feill,
Quhat grace that evir I gett.”
“Robene, with the I will nocht deill;
Adew, for thus we mett.”
Malkyne went hame blyth annewche,
Attour the holttis hair;
Robene murnit and Malkyne lewche;
Scho sang, he sichit sair;
And so left him bayth wo and wewche,
In dolour and in cair,
Kepand his hird under a huche,
Amangis the holtis hair.
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