Lithe and lysten, gentylmen,That be of frebore blode ;I shall you tell of a good yemàn,His name was Robyn Hode.{3}Robyn was a proude outlawe,Whyles he walked on grounde,So curteyse an outlawe as he was oneWas never none yfounde.Robyn stode in Bernysdale,And lened hym to a tree,And by hym stode Lytell Johan,A good yeman was he ;And also dyde good Scathelock,And Much the millers sone ;There was no ynche of his body,But it was worthe a grome.Than bespake hym Lytell JohanAll unto Robyn Hode,Mayster, yf ye wolde dyne betyme,It wolde do you moch good.Then bespake good Robyn,To dyne I have no lust,Tyll I have some bolde baròn,Or some unketh gest,[Or els some byshop or abbot]119That may paye for the best ;Or some knyght or some squyereThat dwelleth here by west.{4}A good maner than had Robyn,In londe where that he were,Every daye or he woulde dyneThre messes wolde he here :The one in the worshyp of the fader,The other of the holy goost,The thyrde was of our dere lady,That he loved of all other moste.Robyn loved our dere lady,For doute of dedely synne ;Wolde he never do company harmeThat only woman was ynne.Mayster, than sayd Lytell Johan,And we our borde shall sprede,Tell us whether we shall gone,And what lyfe we shall lede ;Where we shall take, where we shall leve,Where we shall abide behynde,Where we shall robbe, where we shall reve,Where we shall bete and bynde.Ther of no fors, sayd Robyn,We shall do well ynough ;But loke ye do no housbonde harmeThat tylleth with his plough ;{5}No more ye shall no good yemàn,That walketh by grene wode shawe,Ne no knyght, ne no squyèr,That wolde be a good felawe.These bysshoppes, and thyse archebysshoppes,Ye shall them bete and bynde ;The hye sheryfe of Notynghame,Hym holde in your mynde.This worde shall be holde, sayd Lytyll Johan,And this lesson shall we lere ;It is ferre dayes, god sende us a gest,That we were at our dynere.Take thy good bowe in thy hande, said Robyn,Let Moche wende with the,And so shall Wyllyam Scathelocke,And no man abyde with me ;And walke up to the Sayles,And so to Watlynge-strete,120And wayte after some unketh gest,Up-chaunce ye mowe them mete.{6}Be he erle or ony baròn,Abbot or ony knyght,Brynge hym to lodge to me,Hys dyner shall be dyght.They wente unto the Sayles,These yemen all thre,They loked est, they loked west,They myght no man see.But as they loked in Barnysdale,By a derne strete,Then came there a knyght rydynge,Full sone they gan hym mete.All dreri then was his121semblaunte,And lytell was hys pryde,Hys one fote in the sterope stode,That other waved besyde.Hys hode hangynge over hys eyen two,He rode in symple aray ;A soryer man than he was oneRode never in somers-day.Lytell Johan was curteyse,And set hym on his kne :Welcome be ye, gentyll knyght,Welcome are you to me.COURTESY OF LITTLE JOHN.COURTESY OF LITTLE JOHN.{7}Welcome be thou to grene wood,Hende knyght and fre ;My mayster hath abyden you fastynge,Syr, all these oures thre.Who is your mayster ? sayd the knyght.Johan saydé, Robyn Hode.He is a good yeman, sayd the knyght,Of hym I have herde moch good.I graunte, he sayd, with you to wende,My brethren all in-fere ;122My purpose was to have deyned to dayAt Blythe or Dankastere.Forthe than went this123gentyll knyght,With a carefull chere,The teres out of his eyen ran,And fell downe by his lere.124They brought hym unto the lodge dore,When Robyn gan hym se,Full curteysly dyde of his hode,And set hym on his kne.Welcome, syr knyght, then said Robyn,Welcome thou arte to me,I haue abyde you fastynge, syr,All these houres thre.Then answered the gentyll knyght,With wordes fayre and fre,God the save, good Robyn,And all thy fayre meynè.They washed togyder and wyped bothe,And set tyll theyr dynere ;Brede and wyne they had ynough,And nombles of the dere ;Swannes and fesauntes they had full good,And foules of the revere ;There fayled never so lytell a byrde,That ever was bred on brere.Do gladly, syr knyght, sayd Robyn.Gramercy, syr, sayd he,Suche a dyner had I notOf all these wekes thre ;If I come agayne, Robyn,Here by this countrè,As good a dyner I shall the make,As thou hast made to me.Gramercy, knyght, sayd Robyn,My dyner whan I have,I was never so gredy, by dere worthy god,My dyner for to crave.{9}But pay or ye wende, sayd Robyn,Me thynketh it is good ryght ;It was never the maner, by dere worthy god,A yeman to pay125for a knyght.I have nought in my cofers, sayd the knyght,That I may profer for shame.Lytell Johan, go loke, sayd Robyn,126Ne let not for no blame.Tell me trouth, sayd Robyn,So god hath parte of the.I have no more but ten shillings, sayd the knyght,So god hath parte of me.Yf thou have no more, sayd Robyn,I wyll not one peny ;And yf thou have nede of ony more,More shall I len the.Go now forth, Lytell Johan,The trouthe tell thou me,Yf there be no more but ten shillings,Not one peny that I se.Lytell Johan spred downe his mantèllFull fayre upon the grounde,And there he founde in the knyghtes coferBut even halfe a pounde.{10}Lytyll Johan let it lye full styll,And went to his mayster full lowe.What tydynge Johan ? sayd Robyn.“Syr, the knyght is trewe inough.”Fyll of the best wyne, sayd Robyn,The knyght shall begynne ;Moch wonder thynketh meThy clothynge is so thynne.Tell me one worde, sayd Robyn,And counsell shall it be ;I trowe thou were made a knyght of forse,Or elles of yemanry ;Or elles thou hast ben a sory housband,And leved in stroke and stryfe ;An okerer, or elles a lechoure, sayd Robyn,With wronge hast thou lede thy lyfe.I am none of them, sayd the knyght,By god that made me ;An hondreth wynter here before,Myne aunsetters knyghtes have be.But ofte it hath befal, Robyn,A man hath be dysgrate ;But god that syteth in heven aboveMay amend his state.{11}Within two or thre yere,127Robyn, he sayd,My neyghbores well it ‘kende,’128Foure hondreth pounde of good moneyFull wel than myght I spende.Now have I no good, sayd the knyght,But my chyldren and my wyfe ;God hath shapen such an ende,Tyll god ‘may amende129my lyfe.’In what maner, sayd Robyn,Hast thou lore thy rychès ?For my grete foly, he sayd,And for my kindenesse.I had a sone, for soth, Robyn,That sholde have ben my eyre,When he was twenty wynter olde,In felde wolde juste full feyre ;He slewe a knyght of Lancastshyre,130And a squyre bolde ;For to save hym in his ryghtMy goodes beth sette and solde ;My londes beth set to wedde, Robyn,Untyll a certayne daye,To a ryche abbot here besyde,Of Saynt Mary abbay.{12}What is the somme ? sayd Robyn,Trouthe than tell thou me.Syr, he sayd, foure hondred pounde,The abbot tolde it to me.Now, and thou lese thy londe, sayd Robyn,What shall fall of the ?Hastely I wyll me buske, sayd the knyght,Over the salte see,And se where Cryst was quycke and deed,On the mounte of Caluarè.Fare well, frende, and have good daye,It may noo131better be2em-dashTeeres fell out of his eyen two,He wolde haue gone his waye—Farewell, frendes, and have good day,I ne have more to pay.Where be132thy friendes ? sayd Robyn.“Syr, never one wyll me know ;133Whyle I was ryche inow at homeGrete bost then wolde they blowe,And now they renne awaye fro me,As bestes on a rowe ;They take no more heed of meThen they me never sawe.”134{13}For ruthe then wepte Lytell Johan,Scathelocke and Much ‘in fere.’135Fyll of the best wyne,136sayd Robyn,For here is a symple chere.Hast thou ony frendes, sayd Robyn,Thy borowes that wyll be ?I have none, then sayd the knyght,But god that dyed on a tree.Do waye thy japes, sayd Robyn,Therof wyll I right none ;Wenest thou I wyll have god to borowe ?Peter, Poule or Johan ?Nay, by hym that me made,And shope both sonne and mone,Fynde a better borowe, sayd Robyn,Or mony getest thou none.I have none other, sayd the knyght,The sothe for to say,But yf it be our dere lady,She fayled me never or this day.By dere worthy god, sayd Robyn,To seche all Englond thorowe,Yet founde I never to my pay,A moch better borowe.{14}Come now forthe, Lytell Johan,And goo to my tresourè,And brynge me foure hondred pounde,And loke that it well tolde be.Forthe then wente Lytell Johan,And Scathelocke went before,He tolde out foure houndred pounde,By eyghtene score.137Is this well tolde ? sayd lytell Much.Johan sayd, What greveth the ?It is almes to helpe a gentyll knyghtThat is fall in povertè.Mayster, than sayd Lytell Johan,His clothynge is full thynne,Ye must gyve the knyght a lyveray,To ‘lappe’138his body ther in.For ye have scarlet and grene, mayster,And many a ryche aray,There is no marchaunt in mery EnglòndeSo ryche, I dare well saye.Take hym thre yerdes of every coloure,And loke that well mete it be.Lytell Johan toke none other mesureBut his bowe tre,LITTLE JOHN AND THE KNIGHT.LITTLE JOHN AND THE KNIGHT.{15}And of every handfull that he metHe lept ouer fotes thre.What devilkyns draper, sayd litell Much,Thynkyst thou to be ?Scathelocke stoode full styll and lough,And sayd, By god allmyght,Johan may gyve hym the better mesure,By god, it cost him but lyght.Mayster, sayd Lytell Johan,All unto Robyn Hode,Ye must gyve that knight an hors,To lede home al this good.Take hym a gray courser, sayd Robyn,And a sadell newe ;He is our ladyes messengere,God lene139that he be true.And a good palfraye, sayd lytell Moch,To mayntayne hym in his ryght.And a payre of botes, sayd Scathelocke,For he is a gentyll knyght.What shalt thou gyve hym, Lytel Johan ? sayd Robyn.Syr, a payre of gylte spores clene,To pray for all this company :God brynge hym out of tene !{16}Whan shall my daye be, sayd the knyght,Syr, and your wyll be ?This daye twelve moneth, sayd Robyn,Under this grene wode tre.It were grete shame, sayd Robyn,A knyght alone to ryde,Without squyer, yeman or page,To walke by hys syde.I shall the lene Lytyll Johan my man,For he shall be thy knave ;In a yemans steed he may the stonde,Yf thou grete nede have.
Lithe and lysten, gentylmen,That be of frebore blode ;I shall you tell of a good yemàn,His name was Robyn Hode.{3}Robyn was a proude outlawe,Whyles he walked on grounde,So curteyse an outlawe as he was oneWas never none yfounde.Robyn stode in Bernysdale,And lened hym to a tree,And by hym stode Lytell Johan,A good yeman was he ;And also dyde good Scathelock,And Much the millers sone ;There was no ynche of his body,But it was worthe a grome.Than bespake hym Lytell JohanAll unto Robyn Hode,Mayster, yf ye wolde dyne betyme,It wolde do you moch good.Then bespake good Robyn,To dyne I have no lust,Tyll I have some bolde baròn,Or some unketh gest,[Or els some byshop or abbot]119That may paye for the best ;Or some knyght or some squyereThat dwelleth here by west.{4}A good maner than had Robyn,In londe where that he were,Every daye or he woulde dyneThre messes wolde he here :The one in the worshyp of the fader,The other of the holy goost,The thyrde was of our dere lady,That he loved of all other moste.Robyn loved our dere lady,For doute of dedely synne ;Wolde he never do company harmeThat only woman was ynne.Mayster, than sayd Lytell Johan,And we our borde shall sprede,Tell us whether we shall gone,And what lyfe we shall lede ;Where we shall take, where we shall leve,Where we shall abide behynde,Where we shall robbe, where we shall reve,Where we shall bete and bynde.Ther of no fors, sayd Robyn,We shall do well ynough ;But loke ye do no housbonde harmeThat tylleth with his plough ;{5}No more ye shall no good yemàn,That walketh by grene wode shawe,Ne no knyght, ne no squyèr,That wolde be a good felawe.These bysshoppes, and thyse archebysshoppes,Ye shall them bete and bynde ;The hye sheryfe of Notynghame,Hym holde in your mynde.This worde shall be holde, sayd Lytyll Johan,And this lesson shall we lere ;It is ferre dayes, god sende us a gest,That we were at our dynere.Take thy good bowe in thy hande, said Robyn,Let Moche wende with the,And so shall Wyllyam Scathelocke,And no man abyde with me ;And walke up to the Sayles,And so to Watlynge-strete,120And wayte after some unketh gest,Up-chaunce ye mowe them mete.{6}Be he erle or ony baròn,Abbot or ony knyght,Brynge hym to lodge to me,Hys dyner shall be dyght.They wente unto the Sayles,These yemen all thre,They loked est, they loked west,They myght no man see.But as they loked in Barnysdale,By a derne strete,Then came there a knyght rydynge,Full sone they gan hym mete.All dreri then was his121semblaunte,And lytell was hys pryde,Hys one fote in the sterope stode,That other waved besyde.Hys hode hangynge over hys eyen two,He rode in symple aray ;A soryer man than he was oneRode never in somers-day.Lytell Johan was curteyse,And set hym on his kne :Welcome be ye, gentyll knyght,Welcome are you to me.
Lithe and lysten, gentylmen,That be of frebore blode ;I shall you tell of a good yemàn,His name was Robyn Hode.{3}
Lithe and lysten, gentylmen,
That be of frebore blode ;
I shall you tell of a good yemàn,
His name was Robyn Hode.{3}
Robyn was a proude outlawe,Whyles he walked on grounde,So curteyse an outlawe as he was oneWas never none yfounde.
Robyn was a proude outlawe,
Whyles he walked on grounde,
So curteyse an outlawe as he was one
Was never none yfounde.
Robyn stode in Bernysdale,And lened hym to a tree,And by hym stode Lytell Johan,A good yeman was he ;
Robyn stode in Bernysdale,
And lened hym to a tree,
And by hym stode Lytell Johan,
A good yeman was he ;
And also dyde good Scathelock,And Much the millers sone ;There was no ynche of his body,But it was worthe a grome.
And also dyde good Scathelock,
And Much the millers sone ;
There was no ynche of his body,
But it was worthe a grome.
Than bespake hym Lytell JohanAll unto Robyn Hode,Mayster, yf ye wolde dyne betyme,It wolde do you moch good.
Than bespake hym Lytell Johan
All unto Robyn Hode,
Mayster, yf ye wolde dyne betyme,
It wolde do you moch good.
Then bespake good Robyn,To dyne I have no lust,Tyll I have some bolde baròn,Or some unketh gest,
Then bespake good Robyn,
To dyne I have no lust,
Tyll I have some bolde baròn,
Or some unketh gest,
[Or els some byshop or abbot]119That may paye for the best ;Or some knyght or some squyereThat dwelleth here by west.{4}
[Or els some byshop or abbot]119
That may paye for the best ;
Or some knyght or some squyere
That dwelleth here by west.{4}
A good maner than had Robyn,In londe where that he were,Every daye or he woulde dyneThre messes wolde he here :
A good maner than had Robyn,
In londe where that he were,
Every daye or he woulde dyne
Thre messes wolde he here :
The one in the worshyp of the fader,The other of the holy goost,The thyrde was of our dere lady,That he loved of all other moste.
The one in the worshyp of the fader,
The other of the holy goost,
The thyrde was of our dere lady,
That he loved of all other moste.
Robyn loved our dere lady,For doute of dedely synne ;Wolde he never do company harmeThat only woman was ynne.
Robyn loved our dere lady,
For doute of dedely synne ;
Wolde he never do company harme
That only woman was ynne.
Mayster, than sayd Lytell Johan,And we our borde shall sprede,Tell us whether we shall gone,And what lyfe we shall lede ;
Mayster, than sayd Lytell Johan,
And we our borde shall sprede,
Tell us whether we shall gone,
And what lyfe we shall lede ;
Where we shall take, where we shall leve,Where we shall abide behynde,Where we shall robbe, where we shall reve,Where we shall bete and bynde.
Where we shall take, where we shall leve,
Where we shall abide behynde,
Where we shall robbe, where we shall reve,
Where we shall bete and bynde.
Ther of no fors, sayd Robyn,We shall do well ynough ;But loke ye do no housbonde harmeThat tylleth with his plough ;{5}
Ther of no fors, sayd Robyn,
We shall do well ynough ;
But loke ye do no housbonde harme
That tylleth with his plough ;{5}
No more ye shall no good yemàn,That walketh by grene wode shawe,Ne no knyght, ne no squyèr,That wolde be a good felawe.
No more ye shall no good yemàn,
That walketh by grene wode shawe,
Ne no knyght, ne no squyèr,
That wolde be a good felawe.
These bysshoppes, and thyse archebysshoppes,Ye shall them bete and bynde ;The hye sheryfe of Notynghame,Hym holde in your mynde.
These bysshoppes, and thyse archebysshoppes,
Ye shall them bete and bynde ;
The hye sheryfe of Notynghame,
Hym holde in your mynde.
This worde shall be holde, sayd Lytyll Johan,And this lesson shall we lere ;It is ferre dayes, god sende us a gest,That we were at our dynere.
This worde shall be holde, sayd Lytyll Johan,
And this lesson shall we lere ;
It is ferre dayes, god sende us a gest,
That we were at our dynere.
Take thy good bowe in thy hande, said Robyn,Let Moche wende with the,And so shall Wyllyam Scathelocke,And no man abyde with me ;
Take thy good bowe in thy hande, said Robyn,
Let Moche wende with the,
And so shall Wyllyam Scathelocke,
And no man abyde with me ;
And walke up to the Sayles,And so to Watlynge-strete,120And wayte after some unketh gest,Up-chaunce ye mowe them mete.{6}
And walke up to the Sayles,
And so to Watlynge-strete,120
And wayte after some unketh gest,
Up-chaunce ye mowe them mete.{6}
Be he erle or ony baròn,Abbot or ony knyght,Brynge hym to lodge to me,Hys dyner shall be dyght.
Be he erle or ony baròn,
Abbot or ony knyght,
Brynge hym to lodge to me,
Hys dyner shall be dyght.
They wente unto the Sayles,These yemen all thre,They loked est, they loked west,They myght no man see.
They wente unto the Sayles,
These yemen all thre,
They loked est, they loked west,
They myght no man see.
But as they loked in Barnysdale,By a derne strete,Then came there a knyght rydynge,Full sone they gan hym mete.
But as they loked in Barnysdale,
By a derne strete,
Then came there a knyght rydynge,
Full sone they gan hym mete.
All dreri then was his121semblaunte,And lytell was hys pryde,Hys one fote in the sterope stode,That other waved besyde.
All dreri then was his121semblaunte,
And lytell was hys pryde,
Hys one fote in the sterope stode,
That other waved besyde.
Hys hode hangynge over hys eyen two,He rode in symple aray ;A soryer man than he was oneRode never in somers-day.
Hys hode hangynge over hys eyen two,
He rode in symple aray ;
A soryer man than he was one
Rode never in somers-day.
Lytell Johan was curteyse,And set hym on his kne :Welcome be ye, gentyll knyght,Welcome are you to me.
Lytell Johan was curteyse,
And set hym on his kne :
Welcome be ye, gentyll knyght,
Welcome are you to me.
COURTESY OF LITTLE JOHN.
COURTESY OF LITTLE JOHN.
COURTESY OF LITTLE JOHN.
COURTESY OF LITTLE JOHN.
{7}
Welcome be thou to grene wood,Hende knyght and fre ;My mayster hath abyden you fastynge,Syr, all these oures thre.Who is your mayster ? sayd the knyght.Johan saydé, Robyn Hode.He is a good yeman, sayd the knyght,Of hym I have herde moch good.I graunte, he sayd, with you to wende,My brethren all in-fere ;122My purpose was to have deyned to dayAt Blythe or Dankastere.Forthe than went this123gentyll knyght,With a carefull chere,The teres out of his eyen ran,And fell downe by his lere.124They brought hym unto the lodge dore,When Robyn gan hym se,Full curteysly dyde of his hode,And set hym on his kne.Welcome, syr knyght, then said Robyn,Welcome thou arte to me,I haue abyde you fastynge, syr,All these houres thre.Then answered the gentyll knyght,With wordes fayre and fre,God the save, good Robyn,And all thy fayre meynè.They washed togyder and wyped bothe,And set tyll theyr dynere ;Brede and wyne they had ynough,And nombles of the dere ;Swannes and fesauntes they had full good,And foules of the revere ;There fayled never so lytell a byrde,That ever was bred on brere.Do gladly, syr knyght, sayd Robyn.Gramercy, syr, sayd he,Suche a dyner had I notOf all these wekes thre ;If I come agayne, Robyn,Here by this countrè,As good a dyner I shall the make,As thou hast made to me.Gramercy, knyght, sayd Robyn,My dyner whan I have,I was never so gredy, by dere worthy god,My dyner for to crave.{9}But pay or ye wende, sayd Robyn,Me thynketh it is good ryght ;It was never the maner, by dere worthy god,A yeman to pay125for a knyght.I have nought in my cofers, sayd the knyght,That I may profer for shame.Lytell Johan, go loke, sayd Robyn,126Ne let not for no blame.Tell me trouth, sayd Robyn,So god hath parte of the.I have no more but ten shillings, sayd the knyght,So god hath parte of me.Yf thou have no more, sayd Robyn,I wyll not one peny ;And yf thou have nede of ony more,More shall I len the.Go now forth, Lytell Johan,The trouthe tell thou me,Yf there be no more but ten shillings,Not one peny that I se.Lytell Johan spred downe his mantèllFull fayre upon the grounde,And there he founde in the knyghtes coferBut even halfe a pounde.{10}Lytyll Johan let it lye full styll,And went to his mayster full lowe.What tydynge Johan ? sayd Robyn.“Syr, the knyght is trewe inough.”Fyll of the best wyne, sayd Robyn,The knyght shall begynne ;Moch wonder thynketh meThy clothynge is so thynne.Tell me one worde, sayd Robyn,And counsell shall it be ;I trowe thou were made a knyght of forse,Or elles of yemanry ;Or elles thou hast ben a sory housband,And leved in stroke and stryfe ;An okerer, or elles a lechoure, sayd Robyn,With wronge hast thou lede thy lyfe.I am none of them, sayd the knyght,By god that made me ;An hondreth wynter here before,Myne aunsetters knyghtes have be.But ofte it hath befal, Robyn,A man hath be dysgrate ;But god that syteth in heven aboveMay amend his state.{11}Within two or thre yere,127Robyn, he sayd,My neyghbores well it ‘kende,’128Foure hondreth pounde of good moneyFull wel than myght I spende.Now have I no good, sayd the knyght,But my chyldren and my wyfe ;God hath shapen such an ende,Tyll god ‘may amende129my lyfe.’In what maner, sayd Robyn,Hast thou lore thy rychès ?For my grete foly, he sayd,And for my kindenesse.I had a sone, for soth, Robyn,That sholde have ben my eyre,When he was twenty wynter olde,In felde wolde juste full feyre ;He slewe a knyght of Lancastshyre,130And a squyre bolde ;For to save hym in his ryghtMy goodes beth sette and solde ;My londes beth set to wedde, Robyn,Untyll a certayne daye,To a ryche abbot here besyde,Of Saynt Mary abbay.{12}What is the somme ? sayd Robyn,Trouthe than tell thou me.Syr, he sayd, foure hondred pounde,The abbot tolde it to me.Now, and thou lese thy londe, sayd Robyn,What shall fall of the ?Hastely I wyll me buske, sayd the knyght,Over the salte see,And se where Cryst was quycke and deed,On the mounte of Caluarè.Fare well, frende, and have good daye,It may noo131better be2em-dashTeeres fell out of his eyen two,He wolde haue gone his waye—Farewell, frendes, and have good day,I ne have more to pay.Where be132thy friendes ? sayd Robyn.“Syr, never one wyll me know ;133Whyle I was ryche inow at homeGrete bost then wolde they blowe,And now they renne awaye fro me,As bestes on a rowe ;They take no more heed of meThen they me never sawe.”134{13}For ruthe then wepte Lytell Johan,Scathelocke and Much ‘in fere.’135Fyll of the best wyne,136sayd Robyn,For here is a symple chere.Hast thou ony frendes, sayd Robyn,Thy borowes that wyll be ?I have none, then sayd the knyght,But god that dyed on a tree.Do waye thy japes, sayd Robyn,Therof wyll I right none ;Wenest thou I wyll have god to borowe ?Peter, Poule or Johan ?Nay, by hym that me made,And shope both sonne and mone,Fynde a better borowe, sayd Robyn,Or mony getest thou none.I have none other, sayd the knyght,The sothe for to say,But yf it be our dere lady,She fayled me never or this day.By dere worthy god, sayd Robyn,To seche all Englond thorowe,Yet founde I never to my pay,A moch better borowe.{14}Come now forthe, Lytell Johan,And goo to my tresourè,And brynge me foure hondred pounde,And loke that it well tolde be.Forthe then wente Lytell Johan,And Scathelocke went before,He tolde out foure houndred pounde,By eyghtene score.137Is this well tolde ? sayd lytell Much.Johan sayd, What greveth the ?It is almes to helpe a gentyll knyghtThat is fall in povertè.Mayster, than sayd Lytell Johan,His clothynge is full thynne,Ye must gyve the knyght a lyveray,To ‘lappe’138his body ther in.For ye have scarlet and grene, mayster,And many a ryche aray,There is no marchaunt in mery EnglòndeSo ryche, I dare well saye.Take hym thre yerdes of every coloure,And loke that well mete it be.Lytell Johan toke none other mesureBut his bowe tre,
Welcome be thou to grene wood,Hende knyght and fre ;My mayster hath abyden you fastynge,Syr, all these oures thre.
Welcome be thou to grene wood,
Hende knyght and fre ;
My mayster hath abyden you fastynge,
Syr, all these oures thre.
Who is your mayster ? sayd the knyght.Johan saydé, Robyn Hode.He is a good yeman, sayd the knyght,Of hym I have herde moch good.
Who is your mayster ? sayd the knyght.
Johan saydé, Robyn Hode.
He is a good yeman, sayd the knyght,
Of hym I have herde moch good.
I graunte, he sayd, with you to wende,My brethren all in-fere ;122My purpose was to have deyned to dayAt Blythe or Dankastere.
I graunte, he sayd, with you to wende,
My brethren all in-fere ;122
My purpose was to have deyned to day
At Blythe or Dankastere.
Forthe than went this123gentyll knyght,With a carefull chere,The teres out of his eyen ran,And fell downe by his lere.124
Forthe than went this123gentyll knyght,
With a carefull chere,
The teres out of his eyen ran,
And fell downe by his lere.124
They brought hym unto the lodge dore,When Robyn gan hym se,Full curteysly dyde of his hode,And set hym on his kne.
They brought hym unto the lodge dore,
When Robyn gan hym se,
Full curteysly dyde of his hode,
And set hym on his kne.
Welcome, syr knyght, then said Robyn,Welcome thou arte to me,I haue abyde you fastynge, syr,All these houres thre.
Welcome, syr knyght, then said Robyn,
Welcome thou arte to me,
I haue abyde you fastynge, syr,
All these houres thre.
Then answered the gentyll knyght,With wordes fayre and fre,God the save, good Robyn,And all thy fayre meynè.
Then answered the gentyll knyght,
With wordes fayre and fre,
God the save, good Robyn,
And all thy fayre meynè.
They washed togyder and wyped bothe,And set tyll theyr dynere ;Brede and wyne they had ynough,And nombles of the dere ;
They washed togyder and wyped bothe,
And set tyll theyr dynere ;
Brede and wyne they had ynough,
And nombles of the dere ;
Swannes and fesauntes they had full good,And foules of the revere ;There fayled never so lytell a byrde,That ever was bred on brere.
Swannes and fesauntes they had full good,
And foules of the revere ;
There fayled never so lytell a byrde,
That ever was bred on brere.
Do gladly, syr knyght, sayd Robyn.Gramercy, syr, sayd he,Suche a dyner had I notOf all these wekes thre ;
Do gladly, syr knyght, sayd Robyn.
Gramercy, syr, sayd he,
Suche a dyner had I not
Of all these wekes thre ;
If I come agayne, Robyn,Here by this countrè,As good a dyner I shall the make,As thou hast made to me.
If I come agayne, Robyn,
Here by this countrè,
As good a dyner I shall the make,
As thou hast made to me.
Gramercy, knyght, sayd Robyn,My dyner whan I have,I was never so gredy, by dere worthy god,My dyner for to crave.{9}
Gramercy, knyght, sayd Robyn,
My dyner whan I have,
I was never so gredy, by dere worthy god,
My dyner for to crave.{9}
But pay or ye wende, sayd Robyn,Me thynketh it is good ryght ;It was never the maner, by dere worthy god,A yeman to pay125for a knyght.
But pay or ye wende, sayd Robyn,
Me thynketh it is good ryght ;
It was never the maner, by dere worthy god,
A yeman to pay125for a knyght.
I have nought in my cofers, sayd the knyght,That I may profer for shame.Lytell Johan, go loke, sayd Robyn,126Ne let not for no blame.
I have nought in my cofers, sayd the knyght,
That I may profer for shame.
Lytell Johan, go loke, sayd Robyn,126
Ne let not for no blame.
Tell me trouth, sayd Robyn,So god hath parte of the.I have no more but ten shillings, sayd the knyght,So god hath parte of me.
Tell me trouth, sayd Robyn,
So god hath parte of the.
I have no more but ten shillings, sayd the knyght,
So god hath parte of me.
Yf thou have no more, sayd Robyn,I wyll not one peny ;And yf thou have nede of ony more,More shall I len the.
Yf thou have no more, sayd Robyn,
I wyll not one peny ;
And yf thou have nede of ony more,
More shall I len the.
Go now forth, Lytell Johan,The trouthe tell thou me,Yf there be no more but ten shillings,Not one peny that I se.
Go now forth, Lytell Johan,
The trouthe tell thou me,
Yf there be no more but ten shillings,
Not one peny that I se.
Lytell Johan spred downe his mantèllFull fayre upon the grounde,And there he founde in the knyghtes coferBut even halfe a pounde.{10}
Lytell Johan spred downe his mantèll
Full fayre upon the grounde,
And there he founde in the knyghtes cofer
But even halfe a pounde.{10}
Lytyll Johan let it lye full styll,And went to his mayster full lowe.What tydynge Johan ? sayd Robyn.“Syr, the knyght is trewe inough.”
Lytyll Johan let it lye full styll,
And went to his mayster full lowe.
What tydynge Johan ? sayd Robyn.
“Syr, the knyght is trewe inough.”
Fyll of the best wyne, sayd Robyn,The knyght shall begynne ;Moch wonder thynketh meThy clothynge is so thynne.
Fyll of the best wyne, sayd Robyn,
The knyght shall begynne ;
Moch wonder thynketh me
Thy clothynge is so thynne.
Tell me one worde, sayd Robyn,And counsell shall it be ;I trowe thou were made a knyght of forse,Or elles of yemanry ;
Tell me one worde, sayd Robyn,
And counsell shall it be ;
I trowe thou were made a knyght of forse,
Or elles of yemanry ;
Or elles thou hast ben a sory housband,And leved in stroke and stryfe ;An okerer, or elles a lechoure, sayd Robyn,With wronge hast thou lede thy lyfe.
Or elles thou hast ben a sory housband,
And leved in stroke and stryfe ;
An okerer, or elles a lechoure, sayd Robyn,
With wronge hast thou lede thy lyfe.
I am none of them, sayd the knyght,By god that made me ;An hondreth wynter here before,Myne aunsetters knyghtes have be.
I am none of them, sayd the knyght,
By god that made me ;
An hondreth wynter here before,
Myne aunsetters knyghtes have be.
But ofte it hath befal, Robyn,A man hath be dysgrate ;But god that syteth in heven aboveMay amend his state.{11}
But ofte it hath befal, Robyn,
A man hath be dysgrate ;
But god that syteth in heven above
May amend his state.{11}
Within two or thre yere,127Robyn, he sayd,My neyghbores well it ‘kende,’128Foure hondreth pounde of good moneyFull wel than myght I spende.
Within two or thre yere,127Robyn, he sayd,
My neyghbores well it ‘kende,’128
Foure hondreth pounde of good money
Full wel than myght I spende.
Now have I no good, sayd the knyght,But my chyldren and my wyfe ;God hath shapen such an ende,Tyll god ‘may amende129my lyfe.’
Now have I no good, sayd the knyght,
But my chyldren and my wyfe ;
God hath shapen such an ende,
Tyll god ‘may amende129my lyfe.’
In what maner, sayd Robyn,Hast thou lore thy rychès ?For my grete foly, he sayd,And for my kindenesse.
In what maner, sayd Robyn,
Hast thou lore thy rychès ?
For my grete foly, he sayd,
And for my kindenesse.
I had a sone, for soth, Robyn,That sholde have ben my eyre,When he was twenty wynter olde,In felde wolde juste full feyre ;
I had a sone, for soth, Robyn,
That sholde have ben my eyre,
When he was twenty wynter olde,
In felde wolde juste full feyre ;
He slewe a knyght of Lancastshyre,130And a squyre bolde ;For to save hym in his ryghtMy goodes beth sette and solde ;
He slewe a knyght of Lancastshyre,130
And a squyre bolde ;
For to save hym in his ryght
My goodes beth sette and solde ;
My londes beth set to wedde, Robyn,Untyll a certayne daye,To a ryche abbot here besyde,Of Saynt Mary abbay.{12}
My londes beth set to wedde, Robyn,
Untyll a certayne daye,
To a ryche abbot here besyde,
Of Saynt Mary abbay.{12}
What is the somme ? sayd Robyn,Trouthe than tell thou me.Syr, he sayd, foure hondred pounde,The abbot tolde it to me.
What is the somme ? sayd Robyn,
Trouthe than tell thou me.
Syr, he sayd, foure hondred pounde,
The abbot tolde it to me.
Now, and thou lese thy londe, sayd Robyn,What shall fall of the ?Hastely I wyll me buske, sayd the knyght,Over the salte see,
Now, and thou lese thy londe, sayd Robyn,
What shall fall of the ?
Hastely I wyll me buske, sayd the knyght,
Over the salte see,
And se where Cryst was quycke and deed,On the mounte of Caluarè.Fare well, frende, and have good daye,It may noo131better be2em-dash
And se where Cryst was quycke and deed,
On the mounte of Caluarè.
Fare well, frende, and have good daye,
It may noo131better be2em-dash
Teeres fell out of his eyen two,He wolde haue gone his waye—Farewell, frendes, and have good day,I ne have more to pay.
Teeres fell out of his eyen two,
He wolde haue gone his waye—
Farewell, frendes, and have good day,
I ne have more to pay.
Where be132thy friendes ? sayd Robyn.“Syr, never one wyll me know ;133Whyle I was ryche inow at homeGrete bost then wolde they blowe,
Where be132thy friendes ? sayd Robyn.
“Syr, never one wyll me know ;133
Whyle I was ryche inow at home
Grete bost then wolde they blowe,
And now they renne awaye fro me,As bestes on a rowe ;They take no more heed of meThen they me never sawe.”134{13}
And now they renne awaye fro me,
As bestes on a rowe ;
They take no more heed of me
Then they me never sawe.”134{13}
For ruthe then wepte Lytell Johan,Scathelocke and Much ‘in fere.’135Fyll of the best wyne,136sayd Robyn,For here is a symple chere.
For ruthe then wepte Lytell Johan,
Scathelocke and Much ‘in fere.’135
Fyll of the best wyne,136sayd Robyn,
For here is a symple chere.
Hast thou ony frendes, sayd Robyn,Thy borowes that wyll be ?I have none, then sayd the knyght,But god that dyed on a tree.
Hast thou ony frendes, sayd Robyn,
Thy borowes that wyll be ?
I have none, then sayd the knyght,
But god that dyed on a tree.
Do waye thy japes, sayd Robyn,Therof wyll I right none ;Wenest thou I wyll have god to borowe ?Peter, Poule or Johan ?
Do waye thy japes, sayd Robyn,
Therof wyll I right none ;
Wenest thou I wyll have god to borowe ?
Peter, Poule or Johan ?
Nay, by hym that me made,And shope both sonne and mone,Fynde a better borowe, sayd Robyn,Or mony getest thou none.
Nay, by hym that me made,
And shope both sonne and mone,
Fynde a better borowe, sayd Robyn,
Or mony getest thou none.
I have none other, sayd the knyght,The sothe for to say,But yf it be our dere lady,She fayled me never or this day.
I have none other, sayd the knyght,
The sothe for to say,
But yf it be our dere lady,
She fayled me never or this day.
By dere worthy god, sayd Robyn,To seche all Englond thorowe,Yet founde I never to my pay,A moch better borowe.{14}
By dere worthy god, sayd Robyn,
To seche all Englond thorowe,
Yet founde I never to my pay,
A moch better borowe.{14}
Come now forthe, Lytell Johan,And goo to my tresourè,And brynge me foure hondred pounde,And loke that it well tolde be.
Come now forthe, Lytell Johan,
And goo to my tresourè,
And brynge me foure hondred pounde,
And loke that it well tolde be.
Forthe then wente Lytell Johan,And Scathelocke went before,He tolde out foure houndred pounde,By eyghtene score.137
Forthe then wente Lytell Johan,
And Scathelocke went before,
He tolde out foure houndred pounde,
By eyghtene score.137
Is this well tolde ? sayd lytell Much.Johan sayd, What greveth the ?It is almes to helpe a gentyll knyghtThat is fall in povertè.
Is this well tolde ? sayd lytell Much.
Johan sayd, What greveth the ?
It is almes to helpe a gentyll knyght
That is fall in povertè.
Mayster, than sayd Lytell Johan,His clothynge is full thynne,Ye must gyve the knyght a lyveray,To ‘lappe’138his body ther in.
Mayster, than sayd Lytell Johan,
His clothynge is full thynne,
Ye must gyve the knyght a lyveray,
To ‘lappe’138his body ther in.
For ye have scarlet and grene, mayster,And many a ryche aray,There is no marchaunt in mery EnglòndeSo ryche, I dare well saye.
For ye have scarlet and grene, mayster,
And many a ryche aray,
There is no marchaunt in mery Englònde
So ryche, I dare well saye.
Take hym thre yerdes of every coloure,And loke that well mete it be.Lytell Johan toke none other mesureBut his bowe tre,
Take hym thre yerdes of every coloure,
And loke that well mete it be.
Lytell Johan toke none other mesure
But his bowe tre,
LITTLE JOHN AND THE KNIGHT.
LITTLE JOHN AND THE KNIGHT.
LITTLE JOHN AND THE KNIGHT.
LITTLE JOHN AND THE KNIGHT.
{15}
And of every handfull that he metHe lept ouer fotes thre.What devilkyns draper, sayd litell Much,Thynkyst thou to be ?Scathelocke stoode full styll and lough,And sayd, By god allmyght,Johan may gyve hym the better mesure,By god, it cost him but lyght.Mayster, sayd Lytell Johan,All unto Robyn Hode,Ye must gyve that knight an hors,To lede home al this good.Take hym a gray courser, sayd Robyn,And a sadell newe ;He is our ladyes messengere,God lene139that he be true.And a good palfraye, sayd lytell Moch,To mayntayne hym in his ryght.And a payre of botes, sayd Scathelocke,For he is a gentyll knyght.What shalt thou gyve hym, Lytel Johan ? sayd Robyn.Syr, a payre of gylte spores clene,To pray for all this company :God brynge hym out of tene !{16}Whan shall my daye be, sayd the knyght,Syr, and your wyll be ?This daye twelve moneth, sayd Robyn,Under this grene wode tre.It were grete shame, sayd Robyn,A knyght alone to ryde,Without squyer, yeman or page,To walke by hys syde.I shall the lene Lytyll Johan my man,For he shall be thy knave ;In a yemans steed he may the stonde,Yf thou grete nede have.
And of every handfull that he metHe lept ouer fotes thre.What devilkyns draper, sayd litell Much,Thynkyst thou to be ?
And of every handfull that he met
He lept ouer fotes thre.
What devilkyns draper, sayd litell Much,
Thynkyst thou to be ?
Scathelocke stoode full styll and lough,And sayd, By god allmyght,Johan may gyve hym the better mesure,By god, it cost him but lyght.
Scathelocke stoode full styll and lough,
And sayd, By god allmyght,
Johan may gyve hym the better mesure,
By god, it cost him but lyght.
Mayster, sayd Lytell Johan,All unto Robyn Hode,Ye must gyve that knight an hors,To lede home al this good.
Mayster, sayd Lytell Johan,
All unto Robyn Hode,
Ye must gyve that knight an hors,
To lede home al this good.
Take hym a gray courser, sayd Robyn,And a sadell newe ;He is our ladyes messengere,God lene139that he be true.
Take hym a gray courser, sayd Robyn,
And a sadell newe ;
He is our ladyes messengere,
God lene139that he be true.
And a good palfraye, sayd lytell Moch,To mayntayne hym in his ryght.And a payre of botes, sayd Scathelocke,For he is a gentyll knyght.
And a good palfraye, sayd lytell Moch,
To mayntayne hym in his ryght.
And a payre of botes, sayd Scathelocke,
For he is a gentyll knyght.
What shalt thou gyve hym, Lytel Johan ? sayd Robyn.Syr, a payre of gylte spores clene,To pray for all this company :God brynge hym out of tene !{16}
What shalt thou gyve hym, Lytel Johan ? sayd Robyn.
Syr, a payre of gylte spores clene,
To pray for all this company :
God brynge hym out of tene !{16}
Whan shall my daye be, sayd the knyght,Syr, and your wyll be ?This daye twelve moneth, sayd Robyn,Under this grene wode tre.
Whan shall my daye be, sayd the knyght,
Syr, and your wyll be ?
This daye twelve moneth, sayd Robyn,
Under this grene wode tre.
It were grete shame, sayd Robyn,A knyght alone to ryde,Without squyer, yeman or page,To walke by hys syde.
It were grete shame, sayd Robyn,
A knyght alone to ryde,
Without squyer, yeman or page,
To walke by hys syde.
I shall the lene Lytyll Johan my man,For he shall be thy knave ;In a yemans steed he may the stonde,Yf thou grete nede have.
I shall the lene Lytyll Johan my man,
For he shall be thy knave ;
In a yemans steed he may the stonde,
Yf thou grete nede have.