"Yes, yes, Father Abbot, thy fault is highe,
And now for the same thou needst must dye;
For except thou canst answer me questions three,
Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodie.

"And first," quo' the King, "when I'm in this
stead,

With my crowne of golde so faire on my head,
Among all my liege-men, so noble of birthe,
Thou must tell to one penny what I am worthe.

"Secondlye, tell me, without any doubt,
How soone I may ride the whole world about,
And at the third question thou must not shrink,
But tell me here truly what I do think."

“Oh, 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 land and thy livings are forfeit to me.'

Away rode the Abbot all sad at that word,
And he rode to Cambridge and Oxenford;

Tales of the Olden Time

Tales But never a doctor there was so wise,

of the That could with his learning an answer devise.

Olden

Time Then home rode the Abbot of comfort so cold,

And he met his Shepherd a-going to fold:

"How now, my Lord Abbot, you are welcome
home;

What news do you bring us from good King
John?"

"Sad news, sad news, Shepherd, I must give,
That I have but three days more to live;
I must answer the King his questions three,
Or my head will be smitten from my bodie.

"The first is to tell him, there in that stead,
With his crown of gold so fair on his head,
Among all his liegemen 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 ap-

parel,

And I'll ride to London to answere your quarrel

"Nay frowne not, if it hath bin 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."

66 Now horses and serving-men thou shalt have,
With sumptuous array most gallant and brave;
With crozier, and mitre, and rochet, and cope,
Fit to appear 'fore our Father the Pope."

66

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 saved 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 I thinke, thou art one penny worse than he."

The King he laughed, and swore by St. Bittel,
"I did not think I had been worth so inte!

66

Tale of the Olden Time

1aves Now secondly tell me, without any doubt,

of the Olden Time

How soon I may ride this whole world about.'

66

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

same,

Until the next morning he riseth again;

And then your Grace need not make any doubt
But in twenty-four hours you'll ride it about."
The King he laughed, and swore by St. Jone,
"I did not think it could be gone so soon.
Now from the third question thou must not shrink,
But tell me here truly what do I think."

"Yea, that I shall do and make your Crace
merry;

You think I'm the Abbot of Canterbury;

But I'm his poor shepherd, as plain you may see,
That am come to beg pardon for him and for me."
The King he laughed, and swore by the mass,
"I'll make thee Lord Abbot this day in his
place!"

66 Nay, nay, my Liege, be not in such speed,
For alack, I can neither write nor read."

"Four nobles a week, then, I will give thee,
For this merry jest thou hast shown unto me;
And tell the old Abbot, when thou gettest home,
Thou hast brought him a pardon from good King

John."

OLD BALLAD.

Lord Beichan and Susie Pye

Lord Beichan was a noble lord,

A noble lord of high degree;
But he was ta'en by a savage Moor,
Who treated him right cruellie.

In ilka shoulder was put a bore,

In ilka bore was put a tree;

And heavy loads they made him draw,
Till he was sick, and like to dee.

Then he was cast in a dungeon deep,

Where he cou'd neither hear nor see;
And seven long years they kept him there,
Both cold and hunger sore to dree.

The Moor he had an only daughter,
The damsel's name was Susie Pye;
And ilka day as she took the air,

Lord Beichan's prison she pass'd by.

Young Susie Pye had a tender heart,
Tho' she was come of a cruel kin;
And sore she sigh'd, she knew not why,
For him who lay that dungeon in.

"Oh, were I but the prison keeper,
As I'm a lady of high degree,
I soon wou'd set this youth at large,
And send him to his own countrie."

Tales

of the Olden Time