The pretty babes, with hand in hand, Went wandering up and down; But never more could see the man Approaching from the town; Their pretty lips with black-berries, Were all besmear'd and dyed, And when they saw the darksome night, They sat them down and cryed.
Thus wandered these poor innocents, Till death did end their grief, In one another's arms they died, As wanting due relief: No burial this pretty pair Of any man receives, Till Robin-redbreast piously Did cover them with leaves.
And now the heavy wrath of God Upon their uncle fell; Yea, fearful fiends did haunt his house, His conscience felt an hell: His barns were fir'd, his goods consum'd, His lands were barren made; His cattle died within the field, And nothing with him stayd.
And in a voyage to Portugal Two of his sons did die; And to conclude, himself was brought To want and misery: He pawn'd and mortgaged all his land Ere seven years came about. And now at length this wicked act Did by this means come out:
The fellow, that did take in hand These children for to kill, Was for a robbery judg'd to die, Such was God's blessed will: Who did confess the very truth, As here hath been display'd: Their uncle having died in gaol, Where he for debt was laid.
You that executors be made, And overseers eke, Of children that be fatherless, And infants mild and meek; Take you example by this thing, And yield to each his right, Lest God with such like misery Your wicked minds requite.
In Wakefield there lives a jolly pinder, In Wakefield, all on a green;
'There is neither knight nor squire,' said the pinder, 'Nor baron that is so bold, Dare make a trespasse to the town of Wakefield, But his pledge goes to the pinfold.'
All this beheard three witty young men, 'Twas Robin Hood, Scarlet, and John; With that they spied the jolly pinder, As he sate under a thorn.
'Now turn again, turn again,' said the pinder, 'For a wrong way have you gone; For you have forsaken the king his highway, And made a path over the corn.'
'Oh, that were great shame,' said jolly Robin, 'We being three, and thou but one': The pinder leapt back then thirty good foot, 'Twas thirty good foot and one.
He leaned his back fast unto a thorn, And his foot unto a stone, And there he fought a long summer's day, A summer's day so long, Till that their swords, on their broad bucklers, Were broken fast unto their hands.