THE THIEF AT ROBIN'S CASTLE
While three most cunning Fiddlers, clad in crimson,
Played ihem a Supper Tune.
And he waited in the tree-fop like a Starling,
Till the Moon was gotten low;
When all the windows in the walls were darkened
He softly in did go.
There Robin and his Dame in bed were sleeping,
And his Children young and fair;
Only Robin's Hounds from their warm kennels
Yelped as he climbed the stair.
All, all were sleeping. Page and Fiddler,
Cook, Scullion, free from care;
Only Robin's Stallions from their stables
Neighed as he climbed the stair.
A wee wan light the Moon did shed him,
Hanging above the Sea,
And he counted into his bag (of beaten Silver)
Platters thirty-three.
Of Spoons three score; of jolly golden Goblets
He stowed in four save one,
And six fine seven-branched Cupid Candlesticks,
Before his work was done.
Nine bulging bags of Money in a cupboard,
Two Snuffers, and a Dish
141
