Poem by Anonymous

* * *

NOW, Robin, lend to me thy bow,
  Sweet Robin, lend to me thy bow;
For I must now a hunting with my lady go,
  With my sweet lady go.

And whither will thy lady go?
  Sweet Wilkin, tell it unto me;
And thou shalt have my hawk, my hound, and eke my bow,
  To wait on thy ladye.

My lady will to Uppingham,
  To Uppingham, forsooth, will she;
And I myself appointed for to be the man
  To wait on my ladye.

Adieu, good Wilkin, all beshrewd,
  Thy hunting nothing pleaseth me;
But yet beware thy babbling hounds stray not abroad,
  For angering of thy ladye.

My hounds shall be led in the line,
  So well I can assure it thee;
Unless by view of strain some pursue I may find,
  To please my sweet ladye.

With that the lady she came in,
  And willed them all for to agree;
For honest hunting never was accounted sin,
  Nor never shall for me.

1. The Enchanted Island
2. The Cave of Pope
3. Ettrick Banks
4. Glen-Orra
5. Barthram’s Dirge

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