1, Ritson, this way.2, hym,sicCh. & M.25. The prior, in an abbey, was the officer immediately under the abbot; in priories and conventual cathedrals he was the superior.—Ritson.101, 2. I.e., the Chief Justice had been retained for the abbot by robe and fee. A writer inNotes and Queries, (vol. vi. p. 479,) quotes statutes of Edward I. and Edward III. against maintenance, in which the abuse of robes and fees is mentioned, and cites the following clause from the oath required to be taken by justices: "And that ye will take nofeeso long as ye shall be justices, norrobes, of any man great or small, except of the king himself."122, leue, W. Lende us, C.126, loke (for call), W. C.148, grete, W. get, C.150, thou. PCC.180. This is a place unknown. There is a forest in Lancashire, observes Ritson, of the name of Wierysdale, but it appears subsequently that the knight's castle was in Nottinghamshire.207, sute, C.218, I up pyght, W. up ypyght, C.234, fere, W. in fere, C.
1, Ritson, this way.
2, hym,sicCh. & M.
25. The prior, in an abbey, was the officer immediately under the abbot; in priories and conventual cathedrals he was the superior.—Ritson.
101, 2. I.e., the Chief Justice had been retained for the abbot by robe and fee. A writer inNotes and Queries, (vol. vi. p. 479,) quotes statutes of Edward I. and Edward III. against maintenance, in which the abuse of robes and fees is mentioned, and cites the following clause from the oath required to be taken by justices: "And that ye will take nofeeso long as ye shall be justices, norrobes, of any man great or small, except of the king himself."
122, leue, W. Lende us, C.
126, loke (for call), W. C.
148, grete, W. get, C.
150, thou. PCC.
180. This is a place unknown. There is a forest in Lancashire, observes Ritson, of the name of Wierysdale, but it appears subsequently that the knight's castle was in Nottinghamshire.
207, sute, C.
218, I up pyght, W. up ypyght, C.
234, fere, W. in fere, C.
Lyth and lysten, gentyll men,All that now be here,Of Lytell Johan, that was the knyghtes man,Good myrthe ye shall here.It was upon a mery day,5That yonge men wolde goshete,Lytell Johan fet his bowe anone,And sayd he wolde them mete.Thre tymes Lytell Johan shot about,And alwayscleftthe wande;10The proude sheryf of NotynghamBy the markes gan stande.The sheryf swore a full grete othe,By hym that dyed on a tre,This man is the best archere15That yet sawe I me."Say me now, wyght yonge man,What is now thy name?In what countrewere thouborn,And where is thy wonnyngewane?"20"In Holdernesse I was bore,I-wys all of my dame;Men call me Reynolde Grenelefe,Whan I am at hame.""Say me, Reynaud Grenelefe,25Wolte thou dwell with me?And every yere I wyll the gyveTwenty marke to thy fee.""I have a mayster," sayd Lytell Johan,"A curteys knight is he;30May ye gete leve of hym,The better may it bee."The sheryfe gate Lytell JohanTwelve monethes of the knyght;Therfore he gave him ryght anone35A good hors and a wyght.Now is Lytel Johan the sheryffes man,God gyve us well to spede,But alway thought Lytell JohanTo quyte hym well his mede.40"Now so godmehelpe," sayd Lytel Johan,"And be my trewe lewtè,I shall be the worste servaunte to hymThat ever yet had he."It befell upon a Wednesday,45The sheryfe on hontynge was gone,And Lytel Johan lay in his bed,And was foryete at home.Therfore he was fastyngeTyl it was past the none;50"Good syr stuard, I pray the,Geve me to dyne," sayd Lytel Johan."It is to long for Grenelefe,Fastynge so long to be;Therfore I pray the, stuarde,55My dyner gyve thou me.""Shalt thou never ete ne drynke," said the stuarde,"Tyll my lord be come to towne;""I make myn avowe to god," sayd Lytell Johan,"I had lever to cracke thy crowne."60The butler was full uncurteys,There he stode on flore;He sterte to the buttery,And shet fast the dore.Lytell Johan gave the buteler such a rap,65His backe yede nygh on two;Tho he lyved an hundreth wynter,The wors he sholde go.He sporned the dore with his fote,It went up wel and fyne,70And there he made a large lyverayBoth of ale and wyne."Syth ye wyl not dyne," sayd Lytel Johan,"I shall gyve you to drynke,And though ye lyve an hondred wynter,75On Lytell Johan ye shall thynk."Lytell Johan ete, and Lytell [Johan] dronke,The whyle that he wolde;The sheryfe had in hys kechyn a coke,A stoute man and a bolde.80"I make myn avowe to god," sayd the coke,"Thou arte a shrewde hynde,In an householde to dwel,For to ask thus to dyne."And there he lent Lytel Johan85Good strokes thre;"I make myn avowe," said Lytell Johan,"These strokes lyketh well me."Thou arte a bolde man and an hardyAnd so thynketh me;90And or I passe fro this place,Asayed better shalt thou be."Lytell Johan drewe a good swerde,The coke toke another in honde;They thought nothynge for to fle,95But styfly for to stonde.There they fought sore togyder,Two myle way and more;Myght neyther other harme done,The mountenaunce of an houre.100"I make myn avowe to god," sayd Lytell Johan,"And be my trewe lewtè,Thou art one of the best swerdemen,That ever yet sawe I me."Coowdest thou shote as well in a bowe,105To grene wood thou sholdest with me,And two tymes in the yere thy clothyngeIchaunged sholde be;"And every yere of Robyn HodeTwenty marke to thy fee:"110"Put up thy swerde," sayd the coke,"And felowes wyll we be."Then he fette to Lytell JohanThe numbles of a doo,Good brede and full good wyne;115They ete and dranke therto.And whan they had dronken well,Ther trouthes togyder they plyght,That they wolde be with RobynThat ylke same day at nyght.120Theydydethem to the tresure-hous,As fast as they myght gone;The lockes, that were of good stele,They brake them everychone.They toke away the sylver vessell,125And all that they myght get,Peces, masars, and sponesWolde they non forgete.Also they toke the good pence,Thre hondred pounde and three,130And dyde them strayt to Robyn Hode,Under the grene wode tre."God the save, my dere maystèr,And Cryst the save and se;"And than sayd Robyn to Lytell Johan,135"Welcome myght thou be;"And also be that fayre yemànThou bryngest there with the.What tydynges fro Notyngham?Lytell Johan, tell thou me."140"Well the greteth the proude sheryfe,And sende the here by meHis coke and his sylver vessell,And thre hondred pounde and thre.""I make myn avow to god," sayd Robyn,145"And to the trenytè,It was never by his good wyllThis good is come to me."Lytell Johan hym there bethoughtOn a shrewedwyle;150Fyve myle in the forest he ran,Hym happed at his wyll.Than he met the proud sheryf,Huntynge with hounde and horne;Lytell Johan coud his curteysye,155And kneled hym beforne."God the save, my dere maystèr,And Cryst the save and se;""Raynolde Grenelefe," sayd the sheryfe,"Where hast thou nowe be?"160"I have be in this forest,A fayre syght can I se;It was one of the fayrestsyghtesThat ever yet sawe I me."Yonder I se a ryght fayre hart,165His coloure is of grene;Seven score of dere upon an herdeBe with hym all bedene."His tynde are so sharp, maystèr,Of sexty and well mo,170That I durst not shote for dredeLest they wolde me sloo.""I make myn avowe to god," sayd the sheryf,"That syght wolde I fayn se;""Buske you thyderwarde, my dere maystèr,175Anone, and wende with me."The sheryfe rode, and Lytell JohanOf fote he was full smarte;And when they came afore Robyn,"Lo, here is the mayster harte!"180Styll stode the proud sheryf,A sory man was he:"Wo worthe the, Raynolde Grenelefe!Thou hast now betrayed me.""I make myn avowe to god," sayd Lytell Johan,185"Mayster, ye be to blame,I was mysserved of my dynere,When I was with you at hame."Soone he was to super sette,And served with sylver whyte;190And whan the sheryf se his vessell,For sorowe he myght not ete."Make good chere," sayd Robyn Hode,"Sheryfe, for charytè,And for the love of Lytell Johan,195Thy lyfe is graunted to the."When they had supped well,The day was all agone,Robyn commaunded Lytell JohanTo drawe of his hosen and his shone,200His kyrtell and his cote-a-pye,That was furred well fyne,And take him a grene mantèll,To lappe his body therin.Robyn commaunded his wyght young men,205Under the grene wood tre,They shall lay in that same sorte,That the sheryf myght them se.All nyght laye that proud sheryfIn his breche and in his sherte;210No wonder—it was in grene wode,—Tho his sydes do smerte."Make glad chere," sayd Robyn Hode,"Sheryfe, for charytè,For this is our order i-wys,215Under the grene wood tre.""This is harder order," sayd the sheryfe,"Than ony anker or frere;For al the golde in mery Englonde,I wolde not longe dwell here."220"All these twelve monethes," sayd Robyn,"Thou shalte dwell with me;I shall the teche, proud sheryfe,An outlawe for to be.""Or I here another nyght lye," sayd the sheryfe,225"Robyn, nowe I pray the,Smyte of my hede rather to-morne,And I forgyve it the."Lete me go," then sayd the sheryf,"For saynt Charytè,230And I wyll be the best frendeThat ever yet hadye.""Thou shalte swere me an othe," sayd Robyn,"On my bryght bronde,Thou shalt never awayte me scathe,235By water ne by londe;"And if thou fynde ony of my men,By nyght or by day,Upon thyne othe thou shalt swereTo helpe them that thou may."240Nowhathethe sheryf iswore his othe,And home he began to gone;He was as full of grene wodeAs ever was hepe of stone.
Lyth and lysten, gentyll men,All that now be here,Of Lytell Johan, that was the knyghtes man,Good myrthe ye shall here.
It was upon a mery day,5That yonge men wolde goshete,Lytell Johan fet his bowe anone,And sayd he wolde them mete.
Thre tymes Lytell Johan shot about,And alwayscleftthe wande;10The proude sheryf of NotynghamBy the markes gan stande.
The sheryf swore a full grete othe,By hym that dyed on a tre,This man is the best archere15That yet sawe I me.
"Say me now, wyght yonge man,What is now thy name?In what countrewere thouborn,And where is thy wonnyngewane?"20
"In Holdernesse I was bore,I-wys all of my dame;Men call me Reynolde Grenelefe,Whan I am at hame."
"Say me, Reynaud Grenelefe,25Wolte thou dwell with me?And every yere I wyll the gyveTwenty marke to thy fee."
"I have a mayster," sayd Lytell Johan,"A curteys knight is he;30May ye gete leve of hym,The better may it bee."
The sheryfe gate Lytell JohanTwelve monethes of the knyght;Therfore he gave him ryght anone35A good hors and a wyght.
Now is Lytel Johan the sheryffes man,God gyve us well to spede,But alway thought Lytell JohanTo quyte hym well his mede.40
"Now so godmehelpe," sayd Lytel Johan,"And be my trewe lewtè,I shall be the worste servaunte to hymThat ever yet had he."
It befell upon a Wednesday,45The sheryfe on hontynge was gone,And Lytel Johan lay in his bed,And was foryete at home.
Therfore he was fastyngeTyl it was past the none;50"Good syr stuard, I pray the,Geve me to dyne," sayd Lytel Johan.
"It is to long for Grenelefe,Fastynge so long to be;Therfore I pray the, stuarde,55My dyner gyve thou me."
"Shalt thou never ete ne drynke," said the stuarde,"Tyll my lord be come to towne;""I make myn avowe to god," sayd Lytell Johan,"I had lever to cracke thy crowne."60
The butler was full uncurteys,There he stode on flore;He sterte to the buttery,And shet fast the dore.
Lytell Johan gave the buteler such a rap,65His backe yede nygh on two;Tho he lyved an hundreth wynter,The wors he sholde go.
He sporned the dore with his fote,It went up wel and fyne,70And there he made a large lyverayBoth of ale and wyne.
"Syth ye wyl not dyne," sayd Lytel Johan,"I shall gyve you to drynke,And though ye lyve an hondred wynter,75On Lytell Johan ye shall thynk."
Lytell Johan ete, and Lytell [Johan] dronke,The whyle that he wolde;The sheryfe had in hys kechyn a coke,A stoute man and a bolde.80
"I make myn avowe to god," sayd the coke,"Thou arte a shrewde hynde,In an householde to dwel,For to ask thus to dyne."
And there he lent Lytel Johan85Good strokes thre;"I make myn avowe," said Lytell Johan,"These strokes lyketh well me.
"Thou arte a bolde man and an hardyAnd so thynketh me;90And or I passe fro this place,Asayed better shalt thou be."
Lytell Johan drewe a good swerde,The coke toke another in honde;They thought nothynge for to fle,95But styfly for to stonde.
There they fought sore togyder,Two myle way and more;Myght neyther other harme done,The mountenaunce of an houre.100
"I make myn avowe to god," sayd Lytell Johan,"And be my trewe lewtè,Thou art one of the best swerdemen,That ever yet sawe I me.
"Coowdest thou shote as well in a bowe,105To grene wood thou sholdest with me,And two tymes in the yere thy clothyngeIchaunged sholde be;
"And every yere of Robyn HodeTwenty marke to thy fee:"110"Put up thy swerde," sayd the coke,"And felowes wyll we be."
Then he fette to Lytell JohanThe numbles of a doo,Good brede and full good wyne;115They ete and dranke therto.
And whan they had dronken well,Ther trouthes togyder they plyght,That they wolde be with RobynThat ylke same day at nyght.120
Theydydethem to the tresure-hous,As fast as they myght gone;The lockes, that were of good stele,They brake them everychone.
They toke away the sylver vessell,125And all that they myght get,Peces, masars, and sponesWolde they non forgete.
Also they toke the good pence,Thre hondred pounde and three,130And dyde them strayt to Robyn Hode,Under the grene wode tre.
"God the save, my dere maystèr,And Cryst the save and se;"And than sayd Robyn to Lytell Johan,135"Welcome myght thou be;
"And also be that fayre yemànThou bryngest there with the.What tydynges fro Notyngham?Lytell Johan, tell thou me."140
"Well the greteth the proude sheryfe,And sende the here by meHis coke and his sylver vessell,And thre hondred pounde and thre."
"I make myn avow to god," sayd Robyn,145"And to the trenytè,It was never by his good wyllThis good is come to me."
Lytell Johan hym there bethoughtOn a shrewedwyle;150Fyve myle in the forest he ran,Hym happed at his wyll.
Than he met the proud sheryf,Huntynge with hounde and horne;Lytell Johan coud his curteysye,155And kneled hym beforne.
"God the save, my dere maystèr,And Cryst the save and se;""Raynolde Grenelefe," sayd the sheryfe,"Where hast thou nowe be?"160
"I have be in this forest,A fayre syght can I se;It was one of the fayrestsyghtesThat ever yet sawe I me.
"Yonder I se a ryght fayre hart,165His coloure is of grene;Seven score of dere upon an herdeBe with hym all bedene.
"His tynde are so sharp, maystèr,Of sexty and well mo,170That I durst not shote for dredeLest they wolde me sloo."
"I make myn avowe to god," sayd the sheryf,"That syght wolde I fayn se;""Buske you thyderwarde, my dere maystèr,175Anone, and wende with me."
The sheryfe rode, and Lytell JohanOf fote he was full smarte;And when they came afore Robyn,"Lo, here is the mayster harte!"180
Styll stode the proud sheryf,A sory man was he:"Wo worthe the, Raynolde Grenelefe!Thou hast now betrayed me."
"I make myn avowe to god," sayd Lytell Johan,185"Mayster, ye be to blame,I was mysserved of my dynere,When I was with you at hame."
Soone he was to super sette,And served with sylver whyte;190And whan the sheryf se his vessell,For sorowe he myght not ete.
"Make good chere," sayd Robyn Hode,"Sheryfe, for charytè,And for the love of Lytell Johan,195Thy lyfe is graunted to the."
When they had supped well,The day was all agone,Robyn commaunded Lytell JohanTo drawe of his hosen and his shone,200
His kyrtell and his cote-a-pye,That was furred well fyne,And take him a grene mantèll,To lappe his body therin.
Robyn commaunded his wyght young men,205Under the grene wood tre,They shall lay in that same sorte,That the sheryf myght them se.
All nyght laye that proud sheryfIn his breche and in his sherte;210No wonder—it was in grene wode,—Tho his sydes do smerte.
"Make glad chere," sayd Robyn Hode,"Sheryfe, for charytè,For this is our order i-wys,215Under the grene wood tre."
"This is harder order," sayd the sheryfe,"Than ony anker or frere;For al the golde in mery Englonde,I wolde not longe dwell here."220
"All these twelve monethes," sayd Robyn,"Thou shalte dwell with me;I shall the teche, proud sheryfe,An outlawe for to be."
"Or I here another nyght lye," sayd the sheryfe,225"Robyn, nowe I pray the,Smyte of my hede rather to-morne,And I forgyve it the.
"Lete me go," then sayd the sheryf,"For saynt Charytè,230And I wyll be the best frendeThat ever yet hadye."
"Thou shalte swere me an othe," sayd Robyn,"On my bryght bronde,Thou shalt never awayte me scathe,235By water ne by londe;
"And if thou fynde ony of my men,By nyght or by day,Upon thyne othe thou shalt swereTo helpe them that thou may."240
Nowhathethe sheryf iswore his othe,And home he began to gone;He was as full of grene wodeAs ever was hepe of stone.
6, shote, W.10, he sleste, W.19, thou wast, C. wast thou, Wh.20, wane, Ch. & M. wan, R.41. He, Ritson. Ge. W. f. God.70, Ch. & M. open.121, hyed, C.150, whyle, W.163, syght, W. sightes, C.183, wo the worth, W.232, ye, Ch. & M. the, R.241, have, R. hathe, Ch. & M.
6, shote, W.
10, he sleste, W.
19, thou wast, C. wast thou, Wh.
20, wane, Ch. & M. wan, R.
41. He, Ritson. Ge. W. f. God.
70, Ch. & M. open.
121, hyed, C.
150, whyle, W.
163, syght, W. sightes, C.
183, wo the worth, W.
232, ye, Ch. & M. the, R.
241, have, R. hathe, Ch. & M.
The sheryf dwelled in Notynghame,He was fayne that he was gone,And Robyn and his mery menWent to wode anone."Go we to dyner," sayd Lytell Johan;5Robyn Hode sayd, "Nay;For I drede our lady be wroth with me,For she sent me not my pay.""Have no dout, mayster," sayd Lytell Johan,"Yet is not the sonne at rest;10For I dare saye, and saufly swere,The knyght is trewe and trust.""Take thy bowe in thy hande," sayd Robyn,"Let Moche wende with the,And so shall Wyllyam Scathelock,15And no man abyde with me."And walk up into the Sayles,And to Watlynge-strete,And wayte aftersomeunketh gest;Up-chaunce ye may them mete.20"Whether he be messengere,Or a man that myrthes can,Or yf he be a pore man,Of my good he shall have some."Forth then stert Lytel Johan,25Half in tray and tene,And gyrde hym with a full good swerde,Under a mantel of grene.They went up to the Sayles,These yemen all thre;30They loked est, they loked west,They myght no man se.But as he loked in Bernysdale,By the hye waye,Than were they ware of two blacke monkes,35Eche on a good palferay.Then bespake Lytell Johan,To Much he gan say,"I dare lay my lyfe to wedde,That these monkes have brought our pay.40"Make glad chere," sayd Lytell Johan,"And frese our bowes of ewe,And loke your hertes be seker and sad,Your strynges trusty and trewe."The monke hath fifty two men,45And seven somers full stronge;There rydeth no bysshop in this londeSo ryally, I understond."Brethern," sayd Lytell Johan,"Here are no more but we thre;50But we brynge them to dyner,Our mayster dare we not se."Bende your bowes," sayd Lytell Johan,"Make all yon prese to stonde;The formost monke, his lyfe and his deth55Is closed in my honde."Abyde, chorle monke," sayd Lytell Johan,"No ferther that thou gone;Yf thou doost, by dere worthy god,Thy deth is in my honde.60"And evyll thryfte on thy hede," sayd Lytell Johan,"Ryght under thy hattes bonde,For thou hast made our mayster wroth,He is fastynge so longe.""Who is your mayster?" sayd the monke;65Lytell Johan sayd "Robyn Hode;""He is a stronge thefe," sayd the monke,"Of hym herd I never good.""Thou lyest," than sayd Lytell Johan,"And that shall rewe the;70He is a yeman of the forèst,To dyne he hath bode the."Much was redy with a bolte,Redly and anone,He set the monke to fore the brest,75To the grounde that he can gone.Of fyfty two wyghtyonge menThere abode not one,Saf a lytell page, and a grome,To lede the somers withJohan.80They brought the monke to the lodge dore,Whether he were loth or lefe,For to speke with Robyn Hode,Maugre in theyr tethe.Robyn dyde adowne his hode,85The monke whan that he se;The monke was not so curteyse,His hode then let he be."He is a chorle, mayster, by dere worthy god,"Than said Lytell Johan:90"Thereof no force," sayd Robyn,"For curteysy can he none."How many men," sayd Robyn,"Had this monke, Johan?""Fifty and two whan that we met,95But many of them be gone.""Let blowe a horne," sayd Robyn,"That felaushyp may us knowe;"Seven score of wyght yemen,Came pryckynge on a rowe.100And everych of them a good mantellOf scarlet and of raye;All they came to good Robyn,To wyte what he wolde say.They made the monke to washe and wype,105And syt at his denere,Robyn Hode and Lytel JohanThey servedhim bothein fere."Do gladly, monke," sayd Robyn."Gramercy, syr," said he.110"Where is your abbay, whan ye are at home,And who is your avowè?""Saynt Mary abbay," sayd the monke,"Though I be symple here.""In what offyce?" sayd Robyn:115"Syr, the hye selerer.""Ye be the more welcome," sayd Robyn,"So ever mote I the:Fyll of the best wyne," sayd Robyn,"This monke shall drynke to me.120"But I have grete mervayle," sayd Robyn,"Of all this longe day;I drede our lady be wroth with me,She sent me not my pay.""Have no doute, mayster," sayd Lytell Johan,"Ye have no nede I saye;126This monke it hath brought, I dare well swere,For he is of her abbay.""And she was a borowe," sayd Robyn,"Betwene a knyght and me,130Of a lytell money that I hym lent,Under the grene wode tree."And yf thou hast that sylver ibroughte,I pray the let me se;And I shall helpe the eftsones,135Yf thou have nedeofme."The monke swore a full grete othe,With a sory chere,"Of the borowehode thou spekest to me,Herde I never ere."140"I make myn avowe to god," sayd Robyn,"Monke, thou art to blame;For god is holde a ryghtwys man,And so is his dame."Thou toldest with thyn owne tonge,145Thou may not say nay,How thou arte her servaunt,And servest her every day."And thou artmadeher messengere,My money for to pay;150Therefore I can the more thanke,Thou arte come at thy day."What is in your cofers?" sayd Robyn,"Trewe than tell thou me:""Syr," he sayd, "twenty marke,155Al so mote I the.""Yf there be no more," sayd Robyn,"I wyll not one peny;Yf thou hast myster of ony more,Syr, more I shall lende to the;160"And yf I fynde more," sayd Robyn,"I-wys thou shalte it forgone;For of thy spendynge sylver, monk,Thereof wyll I ryght none."Go nowe forthe, Lytell Johan,165And the trouth tell thou me;If there be no more but twenty marke,No peny that I se."Lytell Johan spred his mantell downe,As he had done before,170And he tolde out of the monkes maleEyght hundreth poundeand more.Lytell Johan let it lye full styll,And went to his mayster in hast;"Syr," he sayd, "the monke is trewe ynowe,175Our lady hath doubled your cost.""I make myn avowe to god," sayd Robyn,"Monke, what tolde I the?Our lady is the trewest womànThat ever yet founde I me.180"By dere worthy god," said Robyn,"To seche all England thorowe,Yet founde I never to my payA moche better borowe."Fyll of the best wyne, do hym drynke," said Robyn,185"And grete well thy lady hende,And yf she have nedeofRobyn Hode,A frende she shall hym fynde."And yf she nedeth ony more sylvèr,Come thou agayne to me,190And, by this token she hath me sent,She shall have such thre."The monke was going to London ward,There to holde grete mote,The knyght that rode so hye on hors,195To brynge hym under fote."Whether be ye away?" sayd Robyn."Syr, to maners in this londe,Too reken with our reves,That have done moch wronge."200"Come now forth, Lytell Johan,And harken to my tale;A better yemen I knowe none,To seke a monkes male.""How much is in yonder othercofer?" said Robyn,205"The soth must we see:""By our lady," than sayd the monke,"That were no curteysye,"To bydde a man to dyner,And syth hym bete and bynde."210"It is our olde maner," sayd Robyn,"To leve but lytell behynde."The monke toke the hors with spore,No lenger wolde he abyde:"Aske to drynke," than sayd Robyn,215"Or that ye forther ryde.""Nay, for god," than sayd the monke,"Me reweth I cam so nere;For better chepe I myght have dynedIn Blythe or in Dankestere."220"Grete well your abbot," sayd Robyn,"And your pryour, I you pray,And byd hym send me such a monkeTo dyner every day."Now lete we that monke be styll,225And speke we of that knyght:Yet he came to holde his day,Whyle that it was lyght.He dyde him streyt to Bernysdale,Under the grene wode tre,230And he founde there Robyn Hode,And all his mery meynè.The knyght lyght downe of his good palfrày;Robyn whan he gan see,So curteysly he dyde adoune his hode,235And set hym on his knee."God the save, good Robyn Hode,And al this company:""Welcome be thou, gentyll knyght,And ryght welcome to me."240Than bespake hym Robyn Hode,To that knyght so fre,"What nede dryveth the to grene wode?I pray the, syr knyght, tell me."And welcome be thou, gentyl knyght,245Why hast thou be so longe?""For the abbot and the hye justyceWolde have had my londe.""Hast thou thy londeagayne?" sayd Robyn;"Treuth than tell thou me."250"Ye, for god," sayd the knyght,"And that thanke I god and the."But take not a grefe, I have be so longe;I came by a wrastelynge,And there I dyd holpe a pore yemàn,255With wronge was put behynde.""Nay, for god," sayd Robyn,"Syr knyght, that thanke I the;What man that helpeth a good yemàn,His frende than wyll I be."260"Have here foure hondred pounde," than sayd the knyght,"The whiche ye lent to me;And here is also twenty markeFor your curteysy.""Nay, for god," than sayd Robyn,265"Thou broke it well for ay;For our lady, by her selerer,Hath sent to me my pay."And yf I tokeit twyse,A shame it were to me:270But trewely, gentyll knyght,Welcom arte thou to me."Whan Robyn had tolde his tale,He leugh and had good chere:"By my trouthe," then sayd the knyght.275"Your money is redy here.""Broke it well," sayd Robyn,"Thou gentyll knyght so fre;And welcome be thou, gentill knyght,Undermy trystelltree.280"But what shall these bowes do?" sayd Robyn,"And these arowes ifedered fre?""By god," than sayd the knyght,"A pore present to the.""Come now forth, Lytell Johan,285And go to my treasurè,And brynge me there foure hondred pounde,The monke over-tolde it me."Have here foure hondred pounde,Thou gentyll knyght and trewe,290And bye hors and harnes good,And gylte thy spores all newe."And yf thou fayle ony spendynge,Com to Robyn Hode,And by my trouth thou shalt none fayle,295The whyles I have any good."And broke well thy four hundred pound,Whiche I lent to the,And make thy selfe no more so bare,By the counsell of me."300Thus than holpe hym good Robyn,The knyght all ofhis care:God, thatsyttethin heven hye,Graunte us well to fare.
The sheryf dwelled in Notynghame,He was fayne that he was gone,And Robyn and his mery menWent to wode anone.
"Go we to dyner," sayd Lytell Johan;5Robyn Hode sayd, "Nay;For I drede our lady be wroth with me,For she sent me not my pay."
"Have no dout, mayster," sayd Lytell Johan,"Yet is not the sonne at rest;10For I dare saye, and saufly swere,The knyght is trewe and trust."
"Take thy bowe in thy hande," sayd Robyn,"Let Moche wende with the,And so shall Wyllyam Scathelock,15And no man abyde with me.
"And walk up into the Sayles,And to Watlynge-strete,And wayte aftersomeunketh gest;Up-chaunce ye may them mete.20
"Whether he be messengere,Or a man that myrthes can,Or yf he be a pore man,Of my good he shall have some."
Forth then stert Lytel Johan,25Half in tray and tene,And gyrde hym with a full good swerde,Under a mantel of grene.
They went up to the Sayles,These yemen all thre;30They loked est, they loked west,They myght no man se.
But as he loked in Bernysdale,By the hye waye,Than were they ware of two blacke monkes,35Eche on a good palferay.
Then bespake Lytell Johan,To Much he gan say,"I dare lay my lyfe to wedde,That these monkes have brought our pay.40
"Make glad chere," sayd Lytell Johan,"And frese our bowes of ewe,And loke your hertes be seker and sad,Your strynges trusty and trewe.
"The monke hath fifty two men,45And seven somers full stronge;There rydeth no bysshop in this londeSo ryally, I understond.
"Brethern," sayd Lytell Johan,"Here are no more but we thre;50But we brynge them to dyner,Our mayster dare we not se.
"Bende your bowes," sayd Lytell Johan,"Make all yon prese to stonde;The formost monke, his lyfe and his deth55Is closed in my honde.
"Abyde, chorle monke," sayd Lytell Johan,"No ferther that thou gone;Yf thou doost, by dere worthy god,Thy deth is in my honde.60
"And evyll thryfte on thy hede," sayd Lytell Johan,"Ryght under thy hattes bonde,For thou hast made our mayster wroth,He is fastynge so longe."
"Who is your mayster?" sayd the monke;65Lytell Johan sayd "Robyn Hode;""He is a stronge thefe," sayd the monke,"Of hym herd I never good."
"Thou lyest," than sayd Lytell Johan,"And that shall rewe the;70He is a yeman of the forèst,To dyne he hath bode the."
Much was redy with a bolte,Redly and anone,He set the monke to fore the brest,75To the grounde that he can gone.
Of fyfty two wyghtyonge menThere abode not one,Saf a lytell page, and a grome,To lede the somers withJohan.80
They brought the monke to the lodge dore,Whether he were loth or lefe,For to speke with Robyn Hode,Maugre in theyr tethe.
Robyn dyde adowne his hode,85The monke whan that he se;The monke was not so curteyse,His hode then let he be.
"He is a chorle, mayster, by dere worthy god,"Than said Lytell Johan:90"Thereof no force," sayd Robyn,"For curteysy can he none.
"How many men," sayd Robyn,"Had this monke, Johan?""Fifty and two whan that we met,95But many of them be gone."
"Let blowe a horne," sayd Robyn,"That felaushyp may us knowe;"Seven score of wyght yemen,Came pryckynge on a rowe.100
And everych of them a good mantellOf scarlet and of raye;All they came to good Robyn,To wyte what he wolde say.
They made the monke to washe and wype,105And syt at his denere,Robyn Hode and Lytel JohanThey servedhim bothein fere.
"Do gladly, monke," sayd Robyn."Gramercy, syr," said he.110"Where is your abbay, whan ye are at home,And who is your avowè?"
"Saynt Mary abbay," sayd the monke,"Though I be symple here.""In what offyce?" sayd Robyn:115"Syr, the hye selerer."
"Ye be the more welcome," sayd Robyn,"So ever mote I the:Fyll of the best wyne," sayd Robyn,"This monke shall drynke to me.120
"But I have grete mervayle," sayd Robyn,"Of all this longe day;I drede our lady be wroth with me,She sent me not my pay."
"Have no doute, mayster," sayd Lytell Johan,"Ye have no nede I saye;126This monke it hath brought, I dare well swere,For he is of her abbay."
"And she was a borowe," sayd Robyn,"Betwene a knyght and me,130Of a lytell money that I hym lent,Under the grene wode tree.
"And yf thou hast that sylver ibroughte,I pray the let me se;And I shall helpe the eftsones,135Yf thou have nedeofme."
The monke swore a full grete othe,With a sory chere,"Of the borowehode thou spekest to me,Herde I never ere."140
"I make myn avowe to god," sayd Robyn,"Monke, thou art to blame;For god is holde a ryghtwys man,And so is his dame.
"Thou toldest with thyn owne tonge,145Thou may not say nay,How thou arte her servaunt,And servest her every day.
"And thou artmadeher messengere,My money for to pay;150Therefore I can the more thanke,Thou arte come at thy day.
"What is in your cofers?" sayd Robyn,"Trewe than tell thou me:""Syr," he sayd, "twenty marke,155Al so mote I the."
"Yf there be no more," sayd Robyn,"I wyll not one peny;Yf thou hast myster of ony more,Syr, more I shall lende to the;160
"And yf I fynde more," sayd Robyn,"I-wys thou shalte it forgone;For of thy spendynge sylver, monk,Thereof wyll I ryght none.
"Go nowe forthe, Lytell Johan,165And the trouth tell thou me;If there be no more but twenty marke,No peny that I se."
Lytell Johan spred his mantell downe,As he had done before,170And he tolde out of the monkes maleEyght hundreth poundeand more.
Lytell Johan let it lye full styll,And went to his mayster in hast;"Syr," he sayd, "the monke is trewe ynowe,175Our lady hath doubled your cost."
"I make myn avowe to god," sayd Robyn,"Monke, what tolde I the?Our lady is the trewest womànThat ever yet founde I me.180
"By dere worthy god," said Robyn,"To seche all England thorowe,Yet founde I never to my payA moche better borowe.
"Fyll of the best wyne, do hym drynke," said Robyn,185"And grete well thy lady hende,And yf she have nedeofRobyn Hode,A frende she shall hym fynde.
"And yf she nedeth ony more sylvèr,Come thou agayne to me,190And, by this token she hath me sent,She shall have such thre."
The monke was going to London ward,There to holde grete mote,The knyght that rode so hye on hors,195To brynge hym under fote.
"Whether be ye away?" sayd Robyn."Syr, to maners in this londe,Too reken with our reves,That have done moch wronge."200
"Come now forth, Lytell Johan,And harken to my tale;A better yemen I knowe none,To seke a monkes male."
"How much is in yonder othercofer?" said Robyn,205"The soth must we see:""By our lady," than sayd the monke,"That were no curteysye,
"To bydde a man to dyner,And syth hym bete and bynde."210"It is our olde maner," sayd Robyn,"To leve but lytell behynde."
The monke toke the hors with spore,No lenger wolde he abyde:"Aske to drynke," than sayd Robyn,215"Or that ye forther ryde."
"Nay, for god," than sayd the monke,"Me reweth I cam so nere;For better chepe I myght have dynedIn Blythe or in Dankestere."220
"Grete well your abbot," sayd Robyn,"And your pryour, I you pray,And byd hym send me such a monkeTo dyner every day."
Now lete we that monke be styll,225And speke we of that knyght:Yet he came to holde his day,Whyle that it was lyght.
He dyde him streyt to Bernysdale,Under the grene wode tre,230And he founde there Robyn Hode,And all his mery meynè.
The knyght lyght downe of his good palfrày;Robyn whan he gan see,So curteysly he dyde adoune his hode,235And set hym on his knee.
"God the save, good Robyn Hode,And al this company:""Welcome be thou, gentyll knyght,And ryght welcome to me."240
Than bespake hym Robyn Hode,To that knyght so fre,"What nede dryveth the to grene wode?I pray the, syr knyght, tell me.
"And welcome be thou, gentyl knyght,245Why hast thou be so longe?""For the abbot and the hye justyceWolde have had my londe."
"Hast thou thy londeagayne?" sayd Robyn;"Treuth than tell thou me."250"Ye, for god," sayd the knyght,"And that thanke I god and the.
"But take not a grefe, I have be so longe;I came by a wrastelynge,And there I dyd holpe a pore yemàn,255With wronge was put behynde."
"Nay, for god," sayd Robyn,"Syr knyght, that thanke I the;What man that helpeth a good yemàn,His frende than wyll I be."260
"Have here foure hondred pounde," than sayd the knyght,"The whiche ye lent to me;And here is also twenty markeFor your curteysy."
"Nay, for god," than sayd Robyn,265"Thou broke it well for ay;For our lady, by her selerer,Hath sent to me my pay.
"And yf I tokeit twyse,A shame it were to me:270But trewely, gentyll knyght,Welcom arte thou to me."
Whan Robyn had tolde his tale,He leugh and had good chere:"By my trouthe," then sayd the knyght.275"Your money is redy here."
"Broke it well," sayd Robyn,"Thou gentyll knyght so fre;And welcome be thou, gentill knyght,Undermy trystelltree.280
"But what shall these bowes do?" sayd Robyn,"And these arowes ifedered fre?""By god," than sayd the knyght,"A pore present to the."
"Come now forth, Lytell Johan,285And go to my treasurè,And brynge me there foure hondred pounde,The monke over-tolde it me.
"Have here foure hondred pounde,Thou gentyll knyght and trewe,290And bye hors and harnes good,And gylte thy spores all newe.
"And yf thou fayle ony spendynge,Com to Robyn Hode,And by my trouth thou shalt none fayle,295The whyles I have any good.
"And broke well thy four hundred pound,Whiche I lent to the,And make thy selfe no more so bare,By the counsell of me."300
Thus than holpe hym good Robyn,The knyght all ofhis care:God, thatsyttethin heven hye,Graunte us well to fare.