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Poem by Anonymous

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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.


Anonymous's other poems:
  1. Gathering of Atholl
  2. Carlisle Yetts
  3. Barthrams Dirge
  4. The Haws of Cromdale
  5. Ettrick Banks

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