Английская поэзия XIV–XX веков в современных русских переводах

What Booker doth prognosticate

Concerning kings’ or kingdoms’ fate?

I think myself to be as wise

As he that gazeth on the skies;

My skill goes beyond the depth of a pond,

Or rivers in the greatest rain,

Thereby I can tell all things will be well

When the King enjoys his own again.

There’s neither swallow, dove, nor dade,

Can soar more high, or deeper wade,

Nor show a reason from the stars

What causeth peace or civil wars;

The Man in the Moon may wear out his shoon

By running after Charles his wain:

But all’s to no end, for the times will not mend

Till the King enjoys his own again.

Though for a time we see Whitehall

With cobwebs hanging on the wall

Instead of silk and silver brave,

Which formerly it used to have,

With rich perfume in every room,

Delightful to that princely train,

Which again you shall see, when the time it shall be,

That the King enjoys his own again.

Full forty years the royal crown

Hath been his father’s and his own;

And is there any one but he

That in the same should sharer be?

For who better may the sceptre sway

Than he that hath such right to reign?

Then let’s hope for a peace, for the wars will not cease

Till the King enjoys his own again.

Till then upon Ararat’s hill

My hope shall cast her anchor still,

Until I see some peaceful dove

Bring home the branch I dearly love;

Then will I wait till the waters abate

Which now disturb my troubled brain,

Else never rejoice till I hear the voice

That the King enjoys his own again.

Both gentlemen and yeomen bold,

Or whatsoever you are,

To have a stately story told

Attention now prepare:

It is a tale of Robin Hood,

Which I to you will tell;

Which, being rightly understood,

I know will please you well.

This Robin (so much talked on)

Was once a man of fame,

Instilled earl of Huntington,

Lord Robin Hood by name.

In courtship and magnificence

His carriage won him praise

And greater favor with his prince

Than any in those days.

In bounteous liberality

He too much did excell,

And loved men of quality

More than exceeding well.

His great revenues all he sold

For wine and costly chear;

He kept three hundred bow-men bold,

He shooting lov’d so dear.

No archer living in his time

With him might well compare;

He practis’d all his youthfull prime

That exercise most rare.

At last, by his profuse expence,

He had consumd his wealth,

And being outlawed by his prince,

In woods he liv’d by stealth.

The abbot of Saint Maries rich,

To whom he mony ought,

His hatred to this earle was such

That he his downefall wrought.

So being outlawed, as ’tis told,

He with a crew went forth

Of lusty cutters, stout and bold,

And robbed in the North.

Among the rest, one Little John,

A yeoman bold and free,

Who could, if it stood him upon,

With ease encounter three.

One hundred men in all he got,

With whom the story sayes,

Three hundred common men durst not

Hold combate any wayes.

They Yorkshire woods frequented much,

And Lancashire also,

Wherein their practises were such

That they wrought mickle woe.

None rich durst travell to and fro,

Though nere so strongly armd,

But by these theeves, so strong in show,

They still were robd and harmd.

His chiefest spight to the clergie was,

That lived in monstrous pride;

No one of them he would let passe

Along the high-way side,

But first they must to dinner goe,

And afterwards to shrift;

Full many a one he served so,

Thus while he livd by theft.

No monkes nor fryers he would let goe,

Without paying their fees;

If they thought much to be usd so,

Their stones he made them leese.

For such as they the country filld

With bastards in those dayes;

Which to prevent, these sparkes did geld

All that came by their wayes.

But Robbin Hood so gentle was,

And bore so brave a minde,

If any in distresse did passe,

To them he was so kinde

That he would give and lend to them,

To helpe them at their neede:

This made all poore men pray for him,

And wish he well might speede.

The widdow and the fatherlesse

He would send meanes unto,

And those whom famine did oppresse

Found him a friendly foe.

Nor would he doe a woman wrong,

But see her safe conveid;

He would protect with power strong

All those who crav’d his ayde.

The abbot of Saint Maries then,

Who him undid before,

Was riding with two hundred men,

And gold and silver store.

But Robbin Hood upon him set

With his couragious sparkes,

And all the coyne perforce did get,

Which was twelve thousand markes.

He bound the abbot to a tree,

And would not let him passe

Before that to his men and he

His lordship had sayd masse.

Which being done, upon his horse

He set him fast astride,

And with his face towards his arse

He forced him to ride.

His men were faine to be his guide,

For he rode backward home;

The abbot, being thus vilified,

Did sorely chafe and fume.

Thus Robbin Hood did vindicate

His former wrongs receav’d;

For ‘twas this covetous prelate

That him of land bereav’d.

The abbot he rode to the king

With all the haste he could,

And to his Grace he every thing

Exactly did unfold.

And say’d if that no course were tane,

By force or stratagem,

To take this rebell and his traine,

No man should passe for them.

The king protested by and by

Unto the abbot then

That Robbin Hood with speed should dye,

With all his merry men.

But ere the king did any send,

He did another feate,

Which did his Grace much more offend;

The fact indeed was great.

For in a short time after that,

The king’s receivers went

Towards London with the coyne they got,

For’s Highnesse northerne rent.

Bold Robbin Hood and Little John,

With the rest of their traine,

Not dreading law, set them upon,

And did their gold obtaine.

The king much moved at the same,

And the abbot’s talke also,

In this his anger did proclaime,

And sent w яord to and fro,

That whosoe’re, alive or dead,

Could bring him Robbin Hood,

Should have one thousand markes, well payd

In gold and silver good.

This promise of the king did make

Full many yeomen bold

Attempt stout Robbin Hood to take,

With all the force they could.

But still when any came to him,

Within the gay greene wood,

He entertainement gave to them,

With venson fat and good.

And shewd to them such martiall sport,

With his long bow and arrow,

That they of him did give report,

How that it was great sorow,

That such a worthy man as he

Should thus be put to shift,

Being late a lord of high degree,

Of living quite bereft.

The king, to take him, more and more

Sent men of mickle might:

But he and his still beate them sore,

And conquered them in fight.

Or else, with love and courtesie,

To him he won their hearts:

Thus still he lived by robbery,

Throughout the northerne parts.

And all the country stood in dread

Of Robbin Hood and’s men;

For stouter lads nere liv’d by bread,

In those dayes nor since then.

The abbot which before I nam’d

Sought all the meanes he could

To have by force this rebell tane,

And his adherents bold.

Therefore he arm’d five hundred men,

With furniture compleate,

But the outlawes slew halfe of them,

And made the rest retreate.

The long bow and the arrow keene

They were so us’d unto

That still they kept the forest greene,

In spight o’th’ proudest foe.

Twelve of the abbot’s men he tooke,

Who came him to have tane;

When all the rest the field forsooke,

These he did entertaine

With banquetting and merriment,

And, having us’d them well,

He to their lord them safely sent,

And will’d them him to tell

That if he would be pleas’d at last

To beg of our good king

That he might pardon what was past,

And him to favour bring,

He would surrender backe agen

The money which before

Was taken by him and his men,

From him and many more.

Poore men might safely passe by him,

And some that way would chuse,

For well they knew that to helpe them

He evermore did use.

But where he knew a miser rich,

That did the poore oppresse,

To feele his coyne his hand did itch;

Hee’de have it, more or lesse.

And sometimes, when the high-way fayld,

Then he his courage rouses;

He and his men have oft assayld

Such rich men in their houses.

So that, through dread of Robbin then

And his adventurous crew,

The mizers kept great store of men,

Which else maintayn’d but few.

King Richard, of that name the first,

Sirnamed Cuer de Lyon,

Went to defeate the Pagans curst,

Who kept the coasts of Syon.

The Bishop of Ely, chancelor,

Was left as vice-roy here,

Who like a potent emperor

Did proudly domminere.

Our chronicles of him report

That commonly he rode

With a thousand horse from court to court,

Where he would make abode.

He, riding downe towards the north,

With his aforesayd traine,

Robbin and his did issue forth,

Them all to entertaine.

And, with the gallant gray-goose wing,

They shewed to them such play,

That made their horses kicke and fling,

And downe their riders lay.

Full glad and faine the bishop was,

For all his thousand men,

To seeke what meanes he could to passe

From out of Robbins ken.

Two hundred of his men were kil’d,

And fourescore horses good;

Thirty, who did as captives yeeld,

Were carryed to the greene wood.

Which afterwards were ransomed,

For twenty markes a man;

The rest set spurres to horse, and fled

To th’town of Warrington.

The bishop, sore enraged then,

Did, in King Richards name,

Muster a power of northerne men,

These outlawes bold to tame.

But Robbin, with his courtesie,

So wonne the meaner sort,

That they were loath on him to try

What rigor did import.

So that bold Robbin and his traine

Did live unhurt of them,

Untill King Richard came againe

From faire Jerusalem.

And then the talke of Robbin Hood

His royall eares did fill;

His Grace admir’d that i’th’ greene wood

He thus continued still.

So that the country farre and neare

Did give him great applause;

For none of them neede stand in feare,

But such as broake the lawes.

He wished well unto the king,

And prayed still for his health,

And never practised any thing

Against the common wealth.

Onely, because he was undone

By th’crewell clergie then,

All meanes that he could thinke upon

To vex such kinde of men

He enterprized, with hatefull spleene;

In which he was to blame,

For fault of some, to wreeke his teene

On all that by him came.

With wealth which he by robbery got

Eight almes-houses he built,

Thinking thereby to purge the blot

Of blood which he had spilt.

Such was their blinde devotion then,

Depending on their workes;

Which, if ’twere true, we Christian men

Inferiour were to Turkes.

But, to speake true of Robbin Hood,

And wrong him not a jot,

He never would shed any mans blood

That him invaded not.

Nor would he injure husbandmen,

That toyld at cart and plough;

For well he knew, were’t not for them,

To live no man knew how.

The king in person, with some lords,

To Notingham did ride,

To try what strength and skill affords

To crush these outlawes pride.

And, as he once before had done,

He did againe proclaime,

What whosoere would take upon

To bring to Notingham,

Or any place within the land,

Rebellious Robbin Hood,

Should be prefered in place to stand

With those of noble blood.

When Robbin Hood heard of the same,

Within a little space,

Into the towne of Nottingham

A letter to his Grace

He shot upon an arrow-head,

One evening cunningly;

Which was brought to the king, and read

Before his Majesty.

The tennour of this letter was

That Robbin would submit,

And be true leigeman to his Grace,

In any thing that’s fit,

So that his Highnesse would forgive

Him and his merry men all;

If not, he must i’th’ greene wood live,

And take what chance did fall.

The king would faine have pardoned him,

But that some lords did say,

“This president will much condemne

Your Grace another day”.

While that the king and lords did stay

Debating on this thing,

Some of these outlawes fled away

Unto the Scottish king.

For they suppos’d, if he were tane,

Or to the king did yeeld,

By th’commons all the rest on’s traine

Full quickely would be quell’d.

Of more than full a hundred men

But forty tarryed still,

Who were resolvd to sticke to him,

Let fortune worke her will.

If none had fled, all for his sake

Had got their pardon free;

The king to favour meant to take

His merry men and he.

But ere the pardon to him came,

This famous archer dy’d.

His death, and manner of the same,

I’le presently describe.

For, being vext to thinke upon

His followers revolt,

In melancholly passion

He did recount their fault.

“Perfideous traytors!” sayd he then,

“In all your dangers past

Have I you guarded as my men

To leave me thus at last?”

This sad perplexity did cause

A fever, as some say,

Which him unto confusion drawes,

Though by a stranger way.

This deadly danger to prevent,

He hide him with all speede

Unto a nunnery, with intent

For his healths sake to bleede.

A faithless fryer did pretend

In love to let him blood;

But he by falshood wrought the end

Of famous Robbin Hood.

The fryer, as some say, did this

To vindicate the wrong

Which to the clergie he and his

Had done by power strong.

Thus dyed he by trechery,

Who could not dye by force;

Had he liv’d longer, certainely,

King Richard, in remorse,

Had unto favour him receav’d;

He brave men elevated;

’Tis pitty he was of life bereav’d

By one which he so hated.

A treacherous leech this fryer was,

To let him bleed to death;

And Robbin was, me thinkes, an asse,

To trust him with his breath.

His corpes the priores of the place,

The next day that he dy’d,

Caused to be buried, in mean case,

Close by the high-way side.

And over him she caused a stone

To be fixed on the ground;

An epitaph was set thereon,

Wherein his name was found.

The date o’th’ yeare, and day also,

Shee made to be set there,

That all who by the way did goe

Might see it plaine appeare

That such a man as Robbin Hood

Was buried in that place;

And how he lived in the greene wood,

And rob’d there for a space.

It seems that though the clergy he

Had put to mickle woe,

He should not quite forgotten be,

Although he was their foe.

This woman, though she did him hate,

Yet loved his memory;

And thought it wondrous pitty that

His fame should with him dye.

This epitaph, as records tell,

Within this hundred yeares

By many was discerned well,

But time all things outweares.

His followers, when he was dead,

Were some received to grace;

The rest to forraigne countries fled,

And left their native place.

Although his funerall was but meane,

This woman had in minde

Least his fame should be buried cleane

From those that came behind.

For certainely, before nor since,

No man ere understood,

Under the reigne of any prince,

Of one like Robbin Hood.

Full thirteene yeares, and something more,

These outlawes lived thus,

Feared of the rich, loved of the poore,

A thing most marvelous.

A thing unpossible to us

This story seemes to be;

None dares be now so venturous;

But times are chang’d, we see.

We that live in these latter dayes

Of civill government,

If neede be, have a hundred wayes

Such outlawes to prevent.

In those dayes men more barbarous were,

And lived lesse in awe;

Now, God be thanked! people feare

More to offend the law.

No roaring guns were then in use,

They dreamt of no such thing;

Our English men in fight did chuse

The gallant gray-goose wing.

In which activity these men,

Through practise, were so good,

That in those dayes non equal’d them,

Specially Robbin Hood.

So that, it seems, keeping in caves,

In woods and forrests thicke,

Thei’d beate a multitude with staves,

Their arrowes did so pricke.

And none durst neare unto them come,

Unlesse in courtesie;

All such he bravely would send home,

With mirth and jollity.

Which courtesie won him such love,

As I before have told;

’Twas the cheefe cause that he did prove

More prosperous than he could.

Let us be thankefull for these times

Of plenty, truth and peace,

And leave our great and horrid crimes,

Least they cause this to cease.

I know there’s many fained tales

Of Robbin Hood and’s crew;

But chronicles, which seldome fayles,

Reports this to be true.

Let none then thinke this a lye,

For, if ’twere put to th’ worst,

They may the truth of all discry

I th’raigne of Richard the first.

If any reader please to try,

As I direction show,

The truth of this brave history,

Hee’le finde it true I know.

And I shall thinke my labour well

Bestowed to purpose good,

When’t shall be sayd that I did tell

True tales of Robbin Hood.