And as he was betwixt them past,
They leapt upon him baith;
The one his pike-staff grippèd fast,
They fearèd for its scaith.90
The other he held in his sight
A drawen dirk to his breast,
And said, "False carl, quit thy staff,
Or I shall be thy priest."
His pike-staff they have taken him frae,95
And stuck it in the green,
He was full loath to let gae,
If better might have been.
The beggar was the feardest man
Of one that ever might be;100
To win away no way he can,
Nor help him with his tree.
He wist not wherefore he was tane,
Nor how many was there;
He thought his life-days had been gane,105
He grew into despair.
"Grant me my life," the beggar said,
"For him that died on tree,
And take away that ugly knife,
Or then for fear I'll die.110
"I griev'd you never in all my life,
Nor late nor yet by ayre,
Ye have great sin, if ye would slay
A silly poor beggàr."
"Thou lies, false lown," they said again,115
"By all that may be sworn;
Thou hast near slain the gentlest man
That ever yet was born.
"And back again thou shalt be led,
And fast bound shalt thou be,120
To see if he will have thee slain,
Or hangèd on a tree."
The beggar then thought all was wrong;
They were set for his wrack;
He saw nothing appearing then,125
But ill upon worse back.