19, such, W.54, you, W. Make you yonder preste, C.77, yemen, C.80, Lytell Johan. O. CC.108, them bothe, O. CC.136, to, W.149, nade, W. not in C.172. Eyght pounde, W.187, to, W.205, corser, W. courser, C.249, gayne, W.253.But take not a grefe, sayd the knyght,That I have be so longe. O. CC.269. I twyse, W.280, thi trusty, C.302, this care, W.303, syt, W.
19, such, W.
54, you, W. Make you yonder preste, C.
77, yemen, C.
80, Lytell Johan. O. CC.
108, them bothe, O. CC.
136, to, W.
149, nade, W. not in C.
172. Eyght pounde, W.
187, to, W.
205, corser, W. courser, C.
249, gayne, W.
253.
But take not a grefe, sayd the knyght,That I have be so longe. O. CC.
But take not a grefe, sayd the knyght,That I have be so longe. O. CC.
269. I twyse, W.
280, thi trusty, C.
302, this care, W.
303, syt, W.
Now hath the knyght his leve itake,And wente hym on his way;Robyn Hode and his mery menDwelled styll full many a day.Lyth and lysten, gentilmen,5And herken what I shall say,How the proud sheryfe of NotynghamDyde crye a full fayre play;That all the best archers of the northSholde come upon a daye,10And he that shoteth altherbestThe game shall bere away.He that shotethaltherbestFurthest fayre and lowe,At a payre of fynly buttes,15Under the grene wode shawe,A ryght good arowe he shall have,The shaft of sylver whyte,The heade and the feders of ryche rede golde,In Englond is none lyke.20This then herde good Robyn,Under his trystell tre:"Make you redy, ye wyght yonge men;That shotynge wyll I se."Buske you, my mery yonge men,25Ye shall go with me;And I wyll wete the shryves fayth,Trewe and yf he be."Whan they had theyr bowes ibent,Theyr takles fedred fre,30Seven score of wyght yonge menStode by Robyns kne."Whan they cam to Notyngham,The buttes were fayre and longe;Many was the bolde archere35That shoted with bowes stronge."There shall but syx shote with me;The other shal kepe my hede.And stande with good bowes bent,That I be not desceyved."40The fourth outlawe his bowe gan bende,And that was Robyn Hode,And that behelde the proude sheryfe,All by the but he stode.Thryes Robyn shot about,45And alwayhe slistthe wand,And so dyde good GylberteWith the whyte hande.Lytell Johan and good ScathelokeWere archers good and fre;50Lytell Much and good Reynolde,The worste wolde they not be.Whan they had shot aboute,These archours fayre and good,Evermore was the best,55Forsoth, Robyn Hode.Hym was delyvered the goode aròw,For best worthy was he;He toke the yeft so curteysly,To grene wode wolde he.60They cryed out on Robyn Hode,And great hornes gan they blowe:"Wo worth the, treason!" sayd Robyn,"Full evyl thou art to knowe."And wo be thou, thou proud sheryf,65Thus gladdynge thy gest;Other wyse thou behote meIn yonder wylde forest."But had I the in grene wode,Under my trystell tre,70Thou sholdest leve me a better weddeThan thy trewe lewtè."Full many a bowe there was bent,And arowes let they glyde,Many a kyrtell there was rent,75And hurt many a syde.The outlaws shot was so stronge,That no man myght them dryve,And the proud sheryfes menThey fled away fullblyve.80Robyn sawe the busshement to-broke,In grene wode he wolde have be;Many an arowe there was shotAmonge that company.Lytell Johan was hurte full sore,85With an arowe in his kne,That he myght neyther go nor ryde;It was full grete pytè."Mayster," then sayd Lytell Johan,"If ever thou lovest me,90And for that ylke lordes love,That dyed upon a tre,"And for the medes of my servyce,That I have served the,Lete never the proude sheryf95Alyve now fynde me."But take out thy browne swerde,And smyte all of my hede,And gyve me woundes dede and wyde,No lyfe on me be lefte."100"I wolde not that," sayd Robyn,"Johan, that thou were slawe,For all the golde in mery Englond,Though it lay now on a rawe.""God forbede," sayd lytell Much,105"That dyed on a tre,That thou sholdest, Lytell Johan,Parte our company."Up he toke him on his backe,And bare hym well a myle;110Many a tyme he layd hym downe,And shot another whyle.Then was there a fayre castèll,A lytell within the wode,Double-dyched it was about,115And walled, by the rode.And there dwelled that gentyll knyght,Syr Richard at the Lee,That Robyn had lent his good,Under the grene wode tree.120In he toke good Robyn,And all his company;"Welcome be thou, Robyn Hode,Welcome arte thou me;"And moche [I] thanke the of thy comfort,125And of thy curteysye,And of thy grete kyndenesse,Under the grene wode tre."I love no man in all this worldeSo much as I do the;130For all the proud sheryf of Notyngham,Ryght here shalt thou be."Shyt the gates, and drawe the bridge,And let no man com in;And arme you well, and make you redy,135And to the walle ye wynne."For one thyng, Robyn, I the behote,I swere by saynt Quyntyn,These twelve dayes thou wonest with me,To suppe, ete, and dyne."140Bordes were layed, and clothes spred,Reddely and anone;Robyn Hode and his mery menTo mete gan they gone.
Now hath the knyght his leve itake,And wente hym on his way;Robyn Hode and his mery menDwelled styll full many a day.
Lyth and lysten, gentilmen,5And herken what I shall say,How the proud sheryfe of NotynghamDyde crye a full fayre play;
That all the best archers of the northSholde come upon a daye,10And he that shoteth altherbestThe game shall bere away.
He that shotethaltherbestFurthest fayre and lowe,At a payre of fynly buttes,15Under the grene wode shawe,
A ryght good arowe he shall have,The shaft of sylver whyte,The heade and the feders of ryche rede golde,In Englond is none lyke.20
This then herde good Robyn,Under his trystell tre:"Make you redy, ye wyght yonge men;That shotynge wyll I se.
"Buske you, my mery yonge men,25Ye shall go with me;And I wyll wete the shryves fayth,Trewe and yf he be."
Whan they had theyr bowes ibent,Theyr takles fedred fre,30Seven score of wyght yonge menStode by Robyns kne.
"Whan they cam to Notyngham,The buttes were fayre and longe;Many was the bolde archere35That shoted with bowes stronge.
"There shall but syx shote with me;The other shal kepe my hede.And stande with good bowes bent,That I be not desceyved."40
The fourth outlawe his bowe gan bende,And that was Robyn Hode,And that behelde the proude sheryfe,All by the but he stode.
Thryes Robyn shot about,45And alwayhe slistthe wand,And so dyde good GylberteWith the whyte hande.
Lytell Johan and good ScathelokeWere archers good and fre;50Lytell Much and good Reynolde,The worste wolde they not be.
Whan they had shot aboute,These archours fayre and good,Evermore was the best,55Forsoth, Robyn Hode.
Hym was delyvered the goode aròw,For best worthy was he;He toke the yeft so curteysly,To grene wode wolde he.60
They cryed out on Robyn Hode,And great hornes gan they blowe:"Wo worth the, treason!" sayd Robyn,"Full evyl thou art to knowe.
"And wo be thou, thou proud sheryf,65Thus gladdynge thy gest;Other wyse thou behote meIn yonder wylde forest.
"But had I the in grene wode,Under my trystell tre,70Thou sholdest leve me a better weddeThan thy trewe lewtè."
Full many a bowe there was bent,And arowes let they glyde,Many a kyrtell there was rent,75And hurt many a syde.
The outlaws shot was so stronge,That no man myght them dryve,And the proud sheryfes menThey fled away fullblyve.80
Robyn sawe the busshement to-broke,In grene wode he wolde have be;Many an arowe there was shotAmonge that company.
Lytell Johan was hurte full sore,85With an arowe in his kne,That he myght neyther go nor ryde;It was full grete pytè.
"Mayster," then sayd Lytell Johan,"If ever thou lovest me,90And for that ylke lordes love,That dyed upon a tre,
"And for the medes of my servyce,That I have served the,Lete never the proude sheryf95Alyve now fynde me.
"But take out thy browne swerde,And smyte all of my hede,And gyve me woundes dede and wyde,No lyfe on me be lefte."100
"I wolde not that," sayd Robyn,"Johan, that thou were slawe,For all the golde in mery Englond,Though it lay now on a rawe."
"God forbede," sayd lytell Much,105"That dyed on a tre,That thou sholdest, Lytell Johan,Parte our company."
Up he toke him on his backe,And bare hym well a myle;110Many a tyme he layd hym downe,And shot another whyle.
Then was there a fayre castèll,A lytell within the wode,Double-dyched it was about,115And walled, by the rode.
And there dwelled that gentyll knyght,Syr Richard at the Lee,That Robyn had lent his good,Under the grene wode tree.120
In he toke good Robyn,And all his company;"Welcome be thou, Robyn Hode,Welcome arte thou me;
"And moche [I] thanke the of thy comfort,125And of thy curteysye,And of thy grete kyndenesse,Under the grene wode tre.
"I love no man in all this worldeSo much as I do the;130For all the proud sheryf of Notyngham,Ryght here shalt thou be.
"Shyt the gates, and drawe the bridge,And let no man com in;And arme you well, and make you redy,135And to the walle ye wynne.
"For one thyng, Robyn, I the behote,I swere by saynt Quyntyn,These twelve dayes thou wonest with me,To suppe, ete, and dyne."140
Bordes were layed, and clothes spred,Reddely and anone;Robyn Hode and his mery menTo mete gan they gone.
11. And that shoteth al ther best, W. And they that shote al of the best, C.13, al theyre, W. al of the, C.46, they slist, W. he clefte, C.80, belyve, C.100. That I after eate no bread, C.
11. And that shoteth al ther best, W. And they that shote al of the best, C.
13, al theyre, W. al of the, C.
46, they slist, W. he clefte, C.
80, belyve, C.
100. That I after eate no bread, C.
Lythe and lysten, gentylmen,And herken unto your songe,How the proude sheryfe of Notyngham,And men of armes stronge,Full faste came to the hye sheryfe,5The countre up to rout,And they beset the knyghts castèll,The walles all about.The proude sheryfe loude gan crye,And sayd, "Thou traytour knyght,10Thou kepeste here the kynges enemye,Agayne the lawes and ryght.""Syr, I wyll avowe that I have done,Thededes that here be dyght,Upon all the londes that I have,15As I am a trewe knyght."Wende forthe, syrs, on your waye,And doth do more to me,Tyll ye wytte our kynges wyll,What he woll say to the."20The sheref thus had his answere,With out ony leasynge;Forthe he yode to London toune,All for to tel our kynge.There he tolde hym of that knyght,25And eke of Robyn Hode,And also of the bolde archeres,That noble were and good."He wolde avowe that he had done,To mayntayne the outlawes stronge,30He wolde be lorde, and set you at nought,In all the north londe.""I woll be at Notyngham," sayd the kynge,"Within this fourtynyght,And take I wyll Robyn Hode,35And so I wyll that knyght."Go home, thou proud sheryf,And do asI byddethe,And ordayne good archeres inoweOf all the wyde countree."40The sheryf had his leve itake,And went hym on his way;And Robyn Hode to grene wode [went]Upon a certayn day.And Lytell Johan was hole of the arowe,45That shote was in his kne,And dyde hym strayte to Robyn Hode,Under the grene wode tre.Robyn Hode walked in the foreste,Under the leves grene;50The proud sheryfe of Notyngham,Therfore he had grete tene.The sheryf there fayled of Robyn Hode,He myght not have his pray;Then he awayted that gentyll knyght,55Bothe by nyght and by daye.Ever he awayted that gentyll knyght,Syr Rychard at the Lee;As he went on haukynge by the ryver sydeAnd let his haukes flee,60Toke he there this gentyll knyght,With men of armes stronge,And lad hym home to Notyngham warde,Ibonde bothfote and honde.The sheryf swore a full grete othe,65By hym that dyedon rode,He had lever than an hondrede pounde,That he had Robyn Hode.Then the lady, the knyghtes wyfe,A fayre lady and fre,70She set her on a gode palfrày,To grene wode anon rode she.When she came to the forèst,Under the grene wode tre,Founde she there Robyn Hode,75And all his fayre meynè."God the save,good Robyn Hode,And all thy company;For our dereladyeslove,A bone graunte thou me.80"Letthou never my wedded lordeShamfully slayne to be;He is fast ibounde to Notyngham warde,For the love of the."Anone then sayd good Robyn,85To that lady fre,"What man hath your lorde itake?""The proude shirife," than sayd she.["The proude sheryfe hath hym itake]Forsoth as I the say;90He is not yet thre mylesPassed onhis waye."Up then sterte good Robyn,As a man that had be wode;"Buske you, my mery young men,95For hym that dyed on a rode."And he that this sorowe forsaketh,By hym that dyed on a tre,And by him that al thinges maketh,No lenger shall dwell with me."100Sone there were good bowes ibent,Mo than seven score,Hedge ne dyche spared they none,That was them before."I make myn avowe to god," sayd Robyn,105"Thesheryfwolde I fayn se,And yf I may hym take,Iquyt than shallhebee."And whan they came to Notyngham,They walked in the strete,110And with the proud sheryf, i-wys,Sone gan they mete."Abyde, thou proud sheryf," he sayd,"Abyde and speake with me,Of some tydynges of our kynge,115I wolde fayne here of the."This seven yere, by dere worthy god,Ne yede I so fast on fote;I make myn avowe to god, thou proude sheryfe,That is not for thy good."120Robyn bent a good bowe,An arrowe he drewe at his wyll,He hyt so the proud sheryf,Upon the ground he lay full styll.And or he myght up aryse,125On his fete to stonde,He smote of the sheryves hede,With his bryght bronde."Lye thou there, thou proude sheryf,Evyll mote thou thryve;130There myght no man to the trust,The whyles thou were alyve."His men drewe out theyr bryght swerdes,That were so sharpe and kene,And layde on the sheryves men,135And dryved them downe bydene.Robyn stert to that knyght,And cut a two hisbonde,And toke hym in his hand a bowe,And bade hym by hym stonde.140"Leve thy hors the behynde,And lerne for to renne;Thou shalt with me to grene wode,Through myre, mosse, and fenne."Thou shalt with me to grene wode,145Without ony leasynge,Tyll that I have gete us graceOf Edwarde, our comly kynge."
Lythe and lysten, gentylmen,And herken unto your songe,How the proude sheryfe of Notyngham,And men of armes stronge,
Full faste came to the hye sheryfe,5The countre up to rout,And they beset the knyghts castèll,The walles all about.
The proude sheryfe loude gan crye,And sayd, "Thou traytour knyght,10Thou kepeste here the kynges enemye,Agayne the lawes and ryght."
"Syr, I wyll avowe that I have done,Thededes that here be dyght,Upon all the londes that I have,15As I am a trewe knyght.
"Wende forthe, syrs, on your waye,And doth do more to me,Tyll ye wytte our kynges wyll,What he woll say to the."20
The sheref thus had his answere,With out ony leasynge;Forthe he yode to London toune,All for to tel our kynge.
There he tolde hym of that knyght,25And eke of Robyn Hode,And also of the bolde archeres,That noble were and good.
"He wolde avowe that he had done,To mayntayne the outlawes stronge,30He wolde be lorde, and set you at nought,In all the north londe."
"I woll be at Notyngham," sayd the kynge,"Within this fourtynyght,And take I wyll Robyn Hode,35And so I wyll that knyght.
"Go home, thou proud sheryf,And do asI byddethe,And ordayne good archeres inoweOf all the wyde countree."40
The sheryf had his leve itake,And went hym on his way;And Robyn Hode to grene wode [went]Upon a certayn day.
And Lytell Johan was hole of the arowe,45That shote was in his kne,And dyde hym strayte to Robyn Hode,Under the grene wode tre.
Robyn Hode walked in the foreste,Under the leves grene;50The proud sheryfe of Notyngham,Therfore he had grete tene.
The sheryf there fayled of Robyn Hode,He myght not have his pray;Then he awayted that gentyll knyght,55Bothe by nyght and by daye.
Ever he awayted that gentyll knyght,Syr Rychard at the Lee;As he went on haukynge by the ryver sydeAnd let his haukes flee,60
Toke he there this gentyll knyght,With men of armes stronge,And lad hym home to Notyngham warde,Ibonde bothfote and honde.
The sheryf swore a full grete othe,65By hym that dyedon rode,He had lever than an hondrede pounde,That he had Robyn Hode.
Then the lady, the knyghtes wyfe,A fayre lady and fre,70She set her on a gode palfrày,To grene wode anon rode she.
When she came to the forèst,Under the grene wode tre,Founde she there Robyn Hode,75And all his fayre meynè.
"God the save,good Robyn Hode,And all thy company;For our dereladyeslove,A bone graunte thou me.80
"Letthou never my wedded lordeShamfully slayne to be;He is fast ibounde to Notyngham warde,For the love of the."
Anone then sayd good Robyn,85To that lady fre,"What man hath your lorde itake?""The proude shirife," than sayd she.
["The proude sheryfe hath hym itake]Forsoth as I the say;90He is not yet thre mylesPassed onhis waye."
Up then sterte good Robyn,As a man that had be wode;"Buske you, my mery young men,95For hym that dyed on a rode.
"And he that this sorowe forsaketh,By hym that dyed on a tre,And by him that al thinges maketh,No lenger shall dwell with me."100
Sone there were good bowes ibent,Mo than seven score,Hedge ne dyche spared they none,That was them before.
"I make myn avowe to god," sayd Robyn,105"Thesheryfwolde I fayn se,And yf I may hym take,Iquyt than shallhebee."
And whan they came to Notyngham,They walked in the strete,110And with the proud sheryf, i-wys,Sone gan they mete.
"Abyde, thou proud sheryf," he sayd,"Abyde and speake with me,Of some tydynges of our kynge,115I wolde fayne here of the.
"This seven yere, by dere worthy god,Ne yede I so fast on fote;I make myn avowe to god, thou proude sheryfe,That is not for thy good."120
Robyn bent a good bowe,An arrowe he drewe at his wyll,He hyt so the proud sheryf,Upon the ground he lay full styll.
And or he myght up aryse,125On his fete to stonde,He smote of the sheryves hede,With his bryght bronde.
"Lye thou there, thou proude sheryf,Evyll mote thou thryve;130There myght no man to the trust,The whyles thou were alyve."
His men drewe out theyr bryght swerdes,That were so sharpe and kene,And layde on the sheryves men,135And dryved them downe bydene.
Robyn stert to that knyght,And cut a two hisbonde,And toke hym in his hand a bowe,And bade hym by hym stonde.140
"Leve thy hors the behynde,And lerne for to renne;Thou shalt with me to grene wode,Through myre, mosse, and fenne.
"Thou shalt with me to grene wode,145Without ony leasynge,Tyll that I have gete us graceOf Edwarde, our comly kynge."
14, thou, W.38, the bydde, OCC.64, honde and fote, W. foote and hande, C.66, on a tre, R. rode, Ch. & M.77. God the good Robyn, W.79, lady, W.81. Late.82. Shamly I slayne be, W.88. Forsoth as I the say, W.92, your waye, W. You may them over take, C.99,100.Shall he never in grene wode be,Nor longer dwell with me. W.106, sherif, Ch. & M. knyght, R.108, it, W.120. At, W. That, C. boote for good, Wh.138, hoode, W. bande, C.]
14, thou, W.
38, the bydde, OCC.
64, honde and fote, W. foote and hande, C.
66, on a tre, R. rode, Ch. & M.
77. God the good Robyn, W.
79, lady, W.
81. Late.
82. Shamly I slayne be, W.
88. Forsoth as I the say, W.
92, your waye, W. You may them over take, C.
99,100.
Shall he never in grene wode be,Nor longer dwell with me. W.
Shall he never in grene wode be,Nor longer dwell with me. W.
106, sherif, Ch. & M. knyght, R.
108, it, W.
120. At, W. That, C. boote for good, Wh.
138, hoode, W. bande, C.]
The kynge came to Notynghame,With knyghtes in grete araye,For to take that gentyll knyghtAnd Robyn Hode,yfhe may.He asked men of that countrè,5After Robyn Hode,And after that gentyll knyght,That was so bolde and stout.Whan they had tolde hym the caseOur kynge understonde ther tale,10And seased in his hondeThe knyghtes londes all.All the passe of LancasshyreHe went both ferre and nere;Tyll he came toPlomton parke,15He faylyd many of his dere.There our kynge was wont to seHerdes many one,He coud unneth fynde one dere,That bare ony good horne.20The kynge was wonder wroth withall,And swore by the trynytè,"I wolde I had Robyn Hode,With eyen I myght hym se."And he that wolde smyte of the knyghtes hede,25And brynge it to me,He shall have the knyghtes londes,Syr Rycharde at the Le."I gyve it hym with my chartèr,And sele it with my honde,30To have and holde for ever-more,In all mery Englonde."Than bespake a fayre olde knyght,That was treue in his fay,"A, my lege lorde the kynge,35One worde I shall you say;"There is no man in this countrèMay have the knyghtes londes,Whyle Robyn Hode may ryde or gone,And bere a bowe in his hondes,40"That he ne shall lese his hede,That is the best ball in his hode:Give it no man, my lorde the kynge,That ye wyll any good."Half a yere dwelled our comly kynge45In Notyngham, and well more;Coude he not here of Robyn Hode,In what countre that he were.But alway went good RobynBy halke and eke by hyll,50And alway slewe the kynges dere,And welt them at his wyll.Than bespake a proude fostere,That stode by our kynges kne,"If ye wyll se good Robyn,55Ye must do after me."Take fyve of the best knyghtesThat be in your lede,And walk downe byyonabbay,And gete you monkes wede.60"And I wyll be your ledes man,And lede you the way,And or ye come to Notyngham,Myn hede then dare I lay,"That ye shall mete with good Robyn,65On lyve yf that he be;Or ye come to Notyngham,With eyen ye shall hym se."Full hastly our kynge was dyght,So were his knyghtes fyve,70Everych of them in monkes wede,And hasted them thyderblyve.Our kynge was grete above his cole,A brode hat on his crowne,Ryght as he were abbot-lyke,75They rode up in-to the towne.Styf botes our kynge had on,Forsoth as I you say;He rode syngynge to grene wode,The covent was clothed in graye.80His male hors and his grete somèrsFolowed our kynge behynde,Tyll they came to grene wode,A myle under the lynde.There they met with good Robyn,85Stondynge on the waye,And so dyde many a bolde archere,For soth as I you say.Robyn toke the kynges hors,Hastely in that stede,90And sayd, "Syr abbot, by your leve,A whyle ye must abyde."We be yemen of this foreste,Under the grene wode tre;We lyve by our kynges dere,95Other shyft have not we."And ye have chyrches and rentes both,And gold full grete plentè;Gyve us some of your spendynge,For saynt Charytè."100Than bespake our cumly kynge,Anone than sayd he,"I brought no more to grene wode,But forty pounde with me."I have layne at Notyngham,105This fourtynyght with our kynge,And spent I have full moche good,On many a grete lordynge."And I have but forty pounde,No more than have I me;110But yf I had an hondred pounde,I would geve it to the."Robyn toke the forty pounde,And departed it in two partye,Halfendell he gave his mery men,115And bad them mery to be.Full curteysly Robyn gan say,"Syr, have this for your spendyng;We shall mete another day.""Gramercy," than sayd our kynge;120"But well the greteth Edwarde our kynge,And sent to the his seale,And byddeth the com to Notyngham,Both to mete and mele."He toke out the brodetarpe,125And sone he lete hym se;Robyn coud his courteysy,And set hym on his kne."I love no man in all the worldeSo well as I do my kynge.130Welcome is my lordes seale;And, monke, for thy tydynge,"Syr abbot, for thy tydynges,To day thou shalt dyne with me,For the love of my kynge,135Under my trystell tre."Forth he lad our comly kynge,Full fayre by the honde;Many a dere there was slayne,And full fast dyghtande.140Robyn toke a full grete horne,And loude he gan blowe;Seven score of wyght yonge menCame redy on a rowe.All they kneeled on theyr kne,145Full fayre before Robyn:The kynge sayd hymselfe untyll,And swore by saynt Austyn,"Here is a wonder semely syght;Me thynketh, by goddes pyne,150His men are more at his byddynge,Then my men be at myn."Full hastly was theyr dyner idyght,And therto gan they gone;They served our kynge with al theyr myght,155Both Robyn and Lytell Johan.Anone before our kynge was setThe fatte venyson,The good whyte brede, the good red wyne,And therto the fyneale browne.160"Make good chere," said Robyn,"Abbot, for charytè;And for this ylke tydynge,Blyssed mote thou be."Now shalte thou se what life we lede,165Or thou hens wende;Than thou may enfourme our kynge,Whan ye togyder lende."Up they sterte all in hast,Theyr bowes were smartly bent;170Our kynge was never so sore agast,He wende to have be shente.Two yerdes there were up set,There to gan they gange;By fifty pase, our kynge sayd,175The merkes were to longe.On every syde a rose garlonde,They shot under the lyne:"Who so fayleth of the rose garlonde," sayd Robyn,"His takyll he shall tyne,180"And yelde it to his mayster,Be it never so fyne;For no man wyll I spare,So drynke I ale or wyne;—"And bere a buffet on his hede,185I-wys right all bare:"And all that fell in Robyns lote,He smote them wonder sare.Twyse Robyn shot aboute,And ever he cleved the wande,190And so dyde good GylberteWith theWhyteHand.Lytell Johan and good Scathelocke,For nothynge wolde they spare,When they fayled of the garlonde,195Robyn smote them full sare.At the last shot that Robyn shot,For all his frendes fare,Yet he fayled of the garlonde,Thre fyngers and mare.200Than bespake good Gylberte,And thus he gan say;"Mayster," he sayd, "your takyll is lost,Stand forth and take your pay.""If it be so," sayd Robyn,205"That may no better be;Syr abbot, I delyver the myn arowe,I pray the, syr, serve thou me.""It falleth not for myn order," sayd our kynge,"Robyn, by thy leve,210For to smyte no good yemàn,For doute I sholde hym greve.""Smyte on boldely," sayd Robyn,"I give the large leve:"Anone our kynge, with that worde,215He folde up his sleve,And sych a buffet he gave Robyn,To grounde he yede full nere."I make myn avowe to god," sayd Robyn,"Thou arte a stalworthe frere.220"There is pith in thyn arme," sayd Robyn,"I trowe thou canst well shote;"Thus our kynge and Robyn HodeTogeder than they met.Robyn behelde our comly kynge225Wystly in the face,So dyde syr Richarde at the Le,And kneled downe in that place;And so dyde all the wylde outlawes,Whan they se them knele:230"My lorde the kynge of Englonde,Now I knowe you well."Mercy," then Robyn sayd to our kynge,Underhistrystyll tre,"Of thy goodnesse and thy grace,235For my men and me!"Yes, for god," sayd Robyn,"And also god me save;I aske mercy, my lorde the kynge,And for my men I crave."240"Yes, for god," than sayd our kynge,"Thy peticion I graunt the,With that thou leve the grene wode,And all thy company;"And come home, syr, to my courte,245And there dwell with me.""I make myn avowe to god," sayd Robyn,"And ryght so shall it be."I wyll come to your courte,Your servyse for to se,250And brynge with me of my menSeven score and thre."But me lyke well your servyse,I come agayne full soone,And shote at the donne dere,255As I am wonte to done."
The kynge came to Notynghame,With knyghtes in grete araye,For to take that gentyll knyghtAnd Robyn Hode,yfhe may.
He asked men of that countrè,5After Robyn Hode,And after that gentyll knyght,That was so bolde and stout.
Whan they had tolde hym the caseOur kynge understonde ther tale,10And seased in his hondeThe knyghtes londes all.
All the passe of LancasshyreHe went both ferre and nere;Tyll he came toPlomton parke,15He faylyd many of his dere.
There our kynge was wont to seHerdes many one,He coud unneth fynde one dere,That bare ony good horne.20
The kynge was wonder wroth withall,And swore by the trynytè,"I wolde I had Robyn Hode,With eyen I myght hym se.
"And he that wolde smyte of the knyghtes hede,25And brynge it to me,He shall have the knyghtes londes,Syr Rycharde at the Le.
"I gyve it hym with my chartèr,And sele it with my honde,30To have and holde for ever-more,In all mery Englonde."
Than bespake a fayre olde knyght,That was treue in his fay,"A, my lege lorde the kynge,35One worde I shall you say;
"There is no man in this countrèMay have the knyghtes londes,Whyle Robyn Hode may ryde or gone,And bere a bowe in his hondes,40
"That he ne shall lese his hede,That is the best ball in his hode:Give it no man, my lorde the kynge,That ye wyll any good."
Half a yere dwelled our comly kynge45In Notyngham, and well more;Coude he not here of Robyn Hode,In what countre that he were.
But alway went good RobynBy halke and eke by hyll,50And alway slewe the kynges dere,And welt them at his wyll.
Than bespake a proude fostere,That stode by our kynges kne,"If ye wyll se good Robyn,55Ye must do after me.
"Take fyve of the best knyghtesThat be in your lede,And walk downe byyonabbay,And gete you monkes wede.60
"And I wyll be your ledes man,And lede you the way,And or ye come to Notyngham,Myn hede then dare I lay,
"That ye shall mete with good Robyn,65On lyve yf that he be;Or ye come to Notyngham,With eyen ye shall hym se."
Full hastly our kynge was dyght,So were his knyghtes fyve,70Everych of them in monkes wede,And hasted them thyderblyve.
Our kynge was grete above his cole,A brode hat on his crowne,Ryght as he were abbot-lyke,75They rode up in-to the towne.
Styf botes our kynge had on,Forsoth as I you say;He rode syngynge to grene wode,The covent was clothed in graye.80
His male hors and his grete somèrsFolowed our kynge behynde,Tyll they came to grene wode,A myle under the lynde.
There they met with good Robyn,85Stondynge on the waye,And so dyde many a bolde archere,For soth as I you say.
Robyn toke the kynges hors,Hastely in that stede,90And sayd, "Syr abbot, by your leve,A whyle ye must abyde.
"We be yemen of this foreste,Under the grene wode tre;We lyve by our kynges dere,95Other shyft have not we.
"And ye have chyrches and rentes both,And gold full grete plentè;Gyve us some of your spendynge,For saynt Charytè."100
Than bespake our cumly kynge,Anone than sayd he,"I brought no more to grene wode,But forty pounde with me.
"I have layne at Notyngham,105This fourtynyght with our kynge,And spent I have full moche good,On many a grete lordynge.
"And I have but forty pounde,No more than have I me;110But yf I had an hondred pounde,I would geve it to the."
Robyn toke the forty pounde,And departed it in two partye,Halfendell he gave his mery men,115And bad them mery to be.
Full curteysly Robyn gan say,"Syr, have this for your spendyng;We shall mete another day.""Gramercy," than sayd our kynge;120
"But well the greteth Edwarde our kynge,And sent to the his seale,And byddeth the com to Notyngham,Both to mete and mele."
He toke out the brodetarpe,125And sone he lete hym se;Robyn coud his courteysy,And set hym on his kne.
"I love no man in all the worldeSo well as I do my kynge.130Welcome is my lordes seale;And, monke, for thy tydynge,
"Syr abbot, for thy tydynges,To day thou shalt dyne with me,For the love of my kynge,135Under my trystell tre."
Forth he lad our comly kynge,Full fayre by the honde;Many a dere there was slayne,And full fast dyghtande.140
Robyn toke a full grete horne,And loude he gan blowe;Seven score of wyght yonge menCame redy on a rowe.
All they kneeled on theyr kne,145Full fayre before Robyn:The kynge sayd hymselfe untyll,And swore by saynt Austyn,
"Here is a wonder semely syght;Me thynketh, by goddes pyne,150His men are more at his byddynge,Then my men be at myn."
Full hastly was theyr dyner idyght,And therto gan they gone;They served our kynge with al theyr myght,155Both Robyn and Lytell Johan.
Anone before our kynge was setThe fatte venyson,The good whyte brede, the good red wyne,And therto the fyneale browne.160
"Make good chere," said Robyn,"Abbot, for charytè;And for this ylke tydynge,Blyssed mote thou be.
"Now shalte thou se what life we lede,165Or thou hens wende;Than thou may enfourme our kynge,Whan ye togyder lende."
Up they sterte all in hast,Theyr bowes were smartly bent;170Our kynge was never so sore agast,He wende to have be shente.
Two yerdes there were up set,There to gan they gange;By fifty pase, our kynge sayd,175The merkes were to longe.
On every syde a rose garlonde,They shot under the lyne:"Who so fayleth of the rose garlonde," sayd Robyn,"His takyll he shall tyne,180
"And yelde it to his mayster,Be it never so fyne;For no man wyll I spare,So drynke I ale or wyne;—
"And bere a buffet on his hede,185I-wys right all bare:"And all that fell in Robyns lote,He smote them wonder sare.
Twyse Robyn shot aboute,And ever he cleved the wande,190And so dyde good GylberteWith theWhyteHand.
Lytell Johan and good Scathelocke,For nothynge wolde they spare,When they fayled of the garlonde,195Robyn smote them full sare.
At the last shot that Robyn shot,For all his frendes fare,Yet he fayled of the garlonde,Thre fyngers and mare.200
Than bespake good Gylberte,And thus he gan say;"Mayster," he sayd, "your takyll is lost,Stand forth and take your pay."
"If it be so," sayd Robyn,205"That may no better be;Syr abbot, I delyver the myn arowe,I pray the, syr, serve thou me."
"It falleth not for myn order," sayd our kynge,"Robyn, by thy leve,210For to smyte no good yemàn,For doute I sholde hym greve."
"Smyte on boldely," sayd Robyn,"I give the large leve:"Anone our kynge, with that worde,215He folde up his sleve,
And sych a buffet he gave Robyn,To grounde he yede full nere."I make myn avowe to god," sayd Robyn,"Thou arte a stalworthe frere.220
"There is pith in thyn arme," sayd Robyn,"I trowe thou canst well shote;"Thus our kynge and Robyn HodeTogeder than they met.
Robyn behelde our comly kynge225Wystly in the face,So dyde syr Richarde at the Le,And kneled downe in that place;
And so dyde all the wylde outlawes,Whan they se them knele:230"My lorde the kynge of Englonde,Now I knowe you well.
"Mercy," then Robyn sayd to our kynge,Underhistrystyll tre,"Of thy goodnesse and thy grace,235For my men and me!
"Yes, for god," sayd Robyn,"And also god me save;I aske mercy, my lorde the kynge,And for my men I crave."240
"Yes, for god," than sayd our kynge,"Thy peticion I graunt the,With that thou leve the grene wode,And all thy company;
"And come home, syr, to my courte,245And there dwell with me.""I make myn avowe to god," sayd Robyn,"And ryght so shall it be.
"I wyll come to your courte,Your servyse for to se,250And brynge with me of my menSeven score and thre.
"But me lyke well your servyse,I come agayne full soone,And shote at the donne dere,255As I am wonte to done."