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. Gathering of Atholl
2. Carlisle Yetts
3. Willy Drowned in Yarrow
4. The Haws of Cromdale
5. Shan Van Vocht

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