Or, the Old Man and His Three Sons (Traditional.)
OLD Sir Robert Bolton had three sons,Wind well thy horn, good hunter;And one of them was Sir Ryalas,For he was a jovial hunter.
He ranged all round down by the wood side,Wind well thy horn, good hunter,Till in a tree-top a gay lady he spied,For he was a jovial hunter.
‘Oh, what dost thee mean, fair lady,’ said he,Wind well thy horn, good hunter;‘The wild boar’s killed my lord, and has thirty men gored,And thou beest a jovial hunter.’
‘Oh, what shall I do this wild boar for to see?’Wind well thy horn, good hunter;‘Oh, thee blow a blast and he’ll come unto thee,As thou beest a jovial hunter.’
Then he blowed a blast, full north, east, west, and south,Wind well thy horn, good hunter;And the wild boar then heard him full in his den,As he was a jovial hunter.
Then he made the best of his speed unto him,Wind well thy horn, good hunter;To Sir Ryalas, the jovial hunter.
Then the wild boar, being so stout and so strong,Wind well thy horn, good hunter;Thrashed down the trees as he ramped him along,To Sir Ryalas, the jovial hunter.
‘Oh, what dost thee want of me?’ wild boar, said he,Wind well thy horn, good hunter;‘Oh, I think in my heart I can do enough for thee,For I am the jovial hunter.’
Then they fought four hours in a long summer day,Wind well thy horn, good hunter;Till the wild boar fain would have got him awayFrom Sir Ryalas, the jovial hunter.
Then Sir Ryalas drawed his broad sword with might,Wind well thy horn, good hunter;And he fairly cut the boar’s head off quite,For he was a jovial hunter.
Then out of the wood the wild woman flew,Wind well thy horn, good hunter;‘Oh, my pretty spotted pig thou hast slew,For thou beest a jovial hunter.
‘There are three things, I demand them of thee,’Wind well thy horn, good hunter;‘It’s thy horn, and thy hound, and thy gay lady,As thou beest a jovial hunter.’
‘If these three things thou dost ask of me,’Wind well thy horn, good hunter;‘It’s just as my sword and thy neck can agree,For I am a jovial hunter.’
Then into his long locks the wild woman flew,Wind well thy horn, good hunter;Till she thought in her heart to tear him through,Though he was a jovial hunter.
Then Sir Ryalas drawed his broad sword again,Wind well thy horn, good hunter,And he fairly split her head into twain,For he was a jovial hunter.
In Bromsgrove church, the knight he doth lie,Wind well thy horn, good hunter;And the wild boar’s head is pictured thereby,Sir Ryalas, the jovial hunter.
Words in this poem
- jovial a.
- Of or pertaining to the god, or the planet, Jupiter. [F., fr. L. Jovialis pertaining to Jove. The planet Jupiter was thought to make those born under it joyful or jovial. See Jove.]
- shall v. i.
- To owe; to be under obligation for. [OE. shal, schal, imp. sholde, scholde, AS. scal, sceal, I am obliged, imp. scolde, sceolde, inf. sculan; akin to OS. skulan, pres. skal, imp. skolda, D. zullen,]
- fain v. t.
- To be glad ; to wish or desire.
- fairly adv.
- In a fairmanner; clearly; openly; plainly; fully; distinctly; frankly.
- hast
- , 2d pers. sing. pres. of. Fave, contr. of havest.
- twain a.
- Two;- nearly obsolete in common discourse, but used in poetry and burlesque. [OE. twein, tweien, tweyne, AS. twegen, masc. See Two.]
- pictured a.
- Furnished with pictures; represented by a picture or pictures; as, a pictured scene.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Or, the Old Man and His Three Sons (Traditional.) is in the public domain. This text is taken from Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs of the Peasantry of England, Project Gutenberg ebook #649; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Robert Bell, Or, the Old Man and His Three Sons (Traditional.), in Ancient Poems, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England (1857), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #649, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/bell-ancient-poems/or-the-old-man-and-his-three-sons-traditional.html, id L11940.
Form and metre
Or, the Old Man and His Three Sons (Traditional.) is 63 lines in 16 stanzas. The rhyme scheme is ABAB, complete in 11 of its 16 stanzas. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 74%). 92% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 9.2 syllables. 33 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending.
See other poems in iambic pentameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 -A-A sons · hunterA · ryalas · hunterA
- 2 ABAB sideA · hunterB · spiedA · hunterB
- 3 -A-A he · hunterA · gored · hunterA
- 4 ABAB seeA · hunterB · theeA · hunterB
- 5 -A-A south · hunterA · den · hunterA
- 6 -AA him · hunterA · hunterA
- 7 ABAB strongA · hunterB · alongA · hunterB
- 8 ABAB heA · hunterB · theeA · hunterB
- 9 ABAB dayA · hunterB · awayA · hunterB
- 10 ABAB mightA · hunterB · quiteA · hunterB
- 11 ABAB flewA · hunterB · slewA · hunterB
- 12 -A-A thee · hunterA · lady · hunterA
- 13 ABAB meA · hunterB · agreeA · hunterB
- 14 ABAB flewA · hunterB · throughA · hunterB
- 15 ABAB againA · hunterB · twainA · hunterB
- 16 ABAB lieA · hunterB · therebyA · hunterB
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic pentameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| OLD Sir Robert Bolton had three sons, | 9 | ··/˘/˘··· |
| Wind well thy horn, good hunter; | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| And one of them was Sir Ryalas, | 8 | ········ |
| For he was a jovial hunter. | 9 | ····/˘˘/˘ |
| He ranged all round down by the wood side, | 9 | ········· |
| Wind well thy horn, good hunter, | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| Till in a tree-top a gay lady he spied, | 11 | ·······/˘·· |
| For he was a jovial hunter. | 9 | ····/˘˘/˘ |
| ‘Oh, what dost thee mean, fair lady,’ said he, | 10 | ······/˘·· |
| Wind well thy horn, good hunter; | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| ‘The wild boar’s killed my lord, and has thirty men gored, | 12 | ········/˘·· |
| And thou beest a jovial hunter.’ | 9 | ····/˘˘/˘ |
| ‘Oh, what shall I do this wild boar for to see?’ | 11 | ··········· |
| Wind well thy horn, good hunter; | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| ‘Oh, thee blow a blast and he’ll come unto thee, | 11 | ··········· |
| As thou beest a jovial hunter.’ | 9 | ····/˘˘/˘ |
| Then he blowed a blast, full north, east, west, and south, | 11 | ··········· |
| Wind well thy horn, good hunter; | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| And the wild boar then heard him full in his den, | 11 | ··········· |
| As he was a jovial hunter. | 9 | ····/˘˘/˘ |
| Then he made the best of his speed unto him, | 11 | ··········· |
| Wind well thy horn, good hunter; | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| To Sir Ryalas, the jovial hunter. | 9 | ·····/˘/˘ |
| Then the wild boar, being so stout and so strong, | 10 | ····/····· |
| Wind well thy horn, good hunter; | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| Thrashed down the trees as he ramped him along, | 10 | ········˘/ |
| To Sir Ryalas, the jovial hunter. | 9 | ·····/˘/˘ |
| ‘Oh, what dost thee want of me?’ wild boar, said he, | 11 | ··········· |
| Wind well thy horn, good hunter; | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| ‘Oh, I think in my heart I can do enough for thee, | 13 | ·········˘/·· |
| For I am the jovial hunter.’ | 9 | ····/˘˘/˘ |
| Then they fought four hours in a long summer day, | 11 | ····/···/˘· |
| Wind well thy horn, good hunter; | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| Till the wild boar fain would have got him away | 11 | ·········˘/ |
| From Sir Ryalas, the jovial hunter. | 9 | ·····/˘/˘ |
| Then Sir Ryalas drawed his broad sword with might, | 10 | ·········· |
| Wind well thy horn, good hunter; | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| And he fairly cut the boar’s head off quite, | 10 | ··/˘······ |
| For he was a jovial hunter. | 9 | ····/˘˘/˘ |
| Then out of the wood the wild woman flew, | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Wind well thy horn, good hunter; | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| ‘Oh, my pretty spotted pig thou hast slew, | 10 | ··/˘/˘···· |
| For thou beest a jovial hunter. | 9 | ····/˘˘/˘ |
| ‘There are three things, I demand them of thee,’ | 10 | ·····˘/··· |
| Wind well thy horn, good hunter; | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| ‘It’s thy horn, and thy hound, and thy gay lady, | 11 | ·········/˘ |
| As thou beest a jovial hunter.’ | 9 | ····/˘˘/˘ |
| ‘If these three things thou dost ask of me,’ | 9 | ········· |
| Wind well thy horn, good hunter; | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| ‘It’s just as my sword and thy neck can agree, | 11 | ·········˘/ |
| For I am a jovial hunter.’ | 9 | ····/˘˘/˘ |
| Then into his long locks the wild woman flew, | 11 | ········/˘· |
| Wind well thy horn, good hunter; | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| Till she thought in her heart to tear him through, | 10 | ·········· |
| Though he was a jovial hunter. | 9 | ····/˘˘/˘ |
| Then Sir Ryalas drawed his broad sword again, | 10 | ········˘/ |
| Wind well thy horn, good hunter, | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| And he fairly split her head into twain, | 10 | ··/˘······ |
| For he was a jovial hunter. | 9 | ····/˘˘/˘ |
| In Bromsgrove church, the knight he doth lie, | 9 | ········· |
| Wind well thy horn, good hunter; | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| And the wild boar’s head is pictured thereby, | 10 | ······/˘·· |
| Sir Ryalas, the jovial hunter. | 9 | ····/˘˘/˘ |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.