To Kerklees stately priorie
Came an old time-worn man,
And for food and shelter prayed he,
Ye chief of a noble clan
He was - who in Burnsdale and merrie Sherwood
Sported blithely in time agone,
And albeit full could crept his sluggish blode,
Yt ye step was firm and ye bearing proud,
Of Robin, ye outlawed one.

And ye prioress gave him a brimming bowle,
And bade him drink deep therein,
''Twould solace' she said, 'his fainting sowle;'
And her's was a deadlie sinne.
For, although he called her his sister dear,
And she smiled when she poured for him
Ye sparkling wine, there was poison there,
And herself had mingled ye druggs with care;
And she pledged her guest, with a thrill of fear,
Though she touched but ye goblet's brim,

Fearful and long was his dying groan,
As his spirit to Hades fled,
And ye prioress stood like a rooted stone
When she saw that ye erle was dede:
And her eyes grew glazed, and she uttered a yell
Too horrid for mortal ear,
And laughter rang - 'twas the mirth of hell -
Through that pile so lone and drear.

On ye self-same night ye murdress died,
But she rotted not alone,
For they laid her carcase side by side
With Robin of Huntingdon.
And they placed a fayre stone on ye mossy bed
Of that brave but erring one,
And many a pilgrim hath wept when he read
What is written that stone upon.