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And at the third question thou must not shrink, But tell me here truly what I do think."

"O, these are hard questions for my shallow witt,
Nor I cannot answer your grace as yet:
But if you will give me but three weekes space,
Ile do my endeavour to answer your grace."

"Now three weeks space to thee will I give,
And that is the longest time thou hast to live;
For if thou dost not answer my questions three,
Thy lands and thy livings are forfeit to mee."

Away rode the abbot all sad at that word,
And he rode to Cambridge, and Oxenford;
But never a doctor there was so wise,
That could with his learning an answer devise.

Then home rode the abbot of comfort so cold,
And he mett his shepheard a going to fold:
"How now, my lord abbot, you are welcome home;
What newes do you bring us from our King
John ?"

"Sad newes, sad newes, shepheard, I must give;
That I have but three weeks more to live;
For if I do not answer him questions three,
My head will be smitten from my bodìe.

"The first is to tell him there in that stead,
With his crowne of golde so fair on his head,
Among all his liege-men so noble of birth
To within one penny of what he is worth.


"The seconde, to tell him, without any doubt,
How soone he may ride this whole world about:
And at the third question I must not shrinke,
But tell him there truly what he does thinke."

"Now cheare up, sire abbot, did you never hear yet,
That a fool he may learne a wise man witt?
Lend me horse, and serving men, and your apparel,
And I'll ride to London to answer your quarrel.

"Nay frowne not, if it hath been told unto mee,
I am like
your lordship, as ever may bee:
And if you will but lend me your gowne,

There is none shall knowe us in fair London towne."

"Now horses, and serving-men thou shalt have,
With sumptuous array most gallant and brave;
With crozier, and miter, and rochet, and cope,
Fit to appeare 'fore our father the pope."


"Now welcome, sire abbot," the king he did say, ""Tis well thou'rt come back to keepe thy day; For and if thou canst answer my questions three, Thy life and thy living both savèd shall bee.

"And first, when thou seest me here in this stead,
With my crown of golde so fair on my head,
Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe,
Tell me to one penny what I am worth ?”

"For thirty pence our Saviour was sold

Among the false Jewes, as I have bin told:
And twenty-nine is the worth of thee,

For at least, thou art one penny worse than Hee."

The king he laughed, and vowed by St. Bittel,
He did not think he had been worth so littel!
"Now secondly tell me, without any doubt,
How soone I may ride this whole world about ?"

"You must rise with the sun, and ride with the same,

Until the next morning he riseth againe;

And then your grace need not to make any doubt, But in twenty-four hours you'll ride it about."

The king he laughed, and vowed by St. Jone, "I did not think, it could be gone so soone!" "Now from the third question thou must not shrinke,

But tell me here truly what I do thinke."

"Yea, that shall I do, and make your grace merry:
You thinke I'm the abbot of Canterbury;
But I'm his poor shepheard, as plain you may see,
That am come to beg pardon for him and for mee."

The king he laughed, and vowed by the masse,
"Ile make thee lord abbot this day in his place!"
"Now naye, my liege, be not in such speede,
For alacke I can neither write, ne reade."

"Four nobles a week, then will I give to thee, For this merry jest thou hast showne unto mee;

And tell the old abbot when thou comest home,

Thou hast brought him a pardon from merry King John."

The Chatsworth Outlaw.

THE sun had risen above the mist,
The boughs in dew were dreeping;
Seven foresters sat on Chatsworth bank,
And sung while roes were leaping.

"Alas!" sung one, " for Chatsworth oaks,
Their heads are bald and hoary,
They droop in fulness of honour and fame,
They have had their time of glory.

"How fair they stand amid their green land, The sock or share ne'er pain'd them;

Not a bough or leaf have been shred from their strength,

Nor the woodman's axe profaned them."

"Green," sung another, "were they that hour

When Scotland's loveliest woman',

And saddest queen, in the sweet twilight,
Ancath their boughs was roamin'.

1 Mary Queen of Scots.

"And ever the Derwent lilies her tears

In their silver tops were catching,

As she look'd to the cold and faithless north, Till her eyes wax'd dim with watching."

"Be mute now," the third forester said,
"The dame who fledged mine arrow
With the cygnet's wing, has a whiter hand
Than the fairest maid on Yarrow."

Loud laugh'd the forester fourth, and sung,
Say not thy maid's the fair one;

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On the banks of Dove there dwells my love, A beauteous and a rare one."

"Now cease your singing," the fifth one said, "And choose of shafts the longest, And seek the bucks on Chatsworth chase, Where the lady-bracken's strongest.

66 Let every bow be strung, and smite
The fattest and the fairest ;

Lord Devonshire will taste our cheer,
Of England's lords the rarest."

"String them with speed," the sixth man said, "For low down in the forest

There runs a deer I long to smite,

With bitter shafts the sorest.

"The bucks bound blythe on Chatsworth lea,
Where brackens grow the greenest ;
The pheasant's safe 'neath Chatsworth oaks,
When the tempest sweeps the keenest.

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