THE SECONDE FYTTE.Nowe is the knyght went on this way,This game he thought full good,When he loked on Bernysdale,He blyssed Robyn Hode ;And whan he thought on Bernysdale,On Scathelock, Much, and Johan,He blyssed them for the best companyThat ever he in come.{17}Then spake that gentyll knyght,To Lytel Johan gan he saye,To morowe I must to Yorke toune,To Saynt Mary abbay ;And to the abbot of that placeFoure hondred pounde I must pay :And but I be there upon this nyghtMy londe is lost for ay.The abbot sayd to his covent,There he stode on grounde,This day twelfe moneth came there a knyghtAnd borowed foure hondred pounde.[He borowed foure hondred pounde,]Upon all his londe fre,But he come this ylke dayDysherytye shall he be.It is full erely, sayd the pryoure,140The day is not yet ferre gone,I had lever to pay an hondred pounde,And lay it downe a none.The knyght is ferre be yonde the see,In Englonde is his ryght,And suffreth honger and coldeAnd many a sory nyght ;{18}It were grete pytè, sayd the pryoure,So to have his londe,And ye be so lyght of your conseyenceYe do to him moch wronge.Thou arte euer in my berde, sayd the abbot,By god and saynt Rycharde.141With that cam in a fat-heded monke,The heygh selerer ;He is dede or hanged, sayd the monke,By god that bought me dere,And we shall have to spende in this placeFoure hondred pounde by yere.The abbot and the hy selerer,Sterte forthe full bolde,The high justyce of EnglondeThe abbot there dyde holde.{19}The hye justyce and many moHad take into their hondeHoly all the knyghtes det,To put that knyght to wronge.They demed the knyght wonder sore,The abbot and hys meynè :“But he come this ylke dayDysheryte shall he be.”He wyll not come yet, sayd the justyce,I dare well undertake.But in sorowe tyme for them allThe knyght came to the gate.Than bespake that gentyll knyghtUntyll hys meynè,Now put on your symple wedesThat ye brought fro the see.[They put on their symple wedes,]And came to the gates anone,The porter was redy hymselfe,And welcomed them everychone.Welcome, syr knyght, sayd the portèr,My lorde to mete is he,And so is many a gentyll man,For the love of the.{20}The porter swore a full grete othe,By god that made me,Here be the best coresed horsThat ever yet sawe I me.Lede them into the stable, he sayd,That eased myght they be.They shall not come therin, sayd the knyght,By god that dyed on a tre.Lordes were to mete isetteIn that abbotes hall,The knyght went forth and kneled downe,And salved them grete and small.Do gladly, syr abbot, sayd the knyght,I am come to holde my day.The fyrst word the abbot spake,Hast thou brought my pay ?Not one peny, sayd the knyght,By god that maked me.Thou art a shrewed dettour, sayd the abbot :Syr justyce, drynke to me.What doost thou here, sayd the abbot,But thou haddest brought thy pay ?For god, than sayd the knyght,To pray of a lenger daye.{21}Thy daye is broke, sayd the justyce,Londe getest thou none.“Now, good syr justyce, be my frende,And fende me of my fone.”I am holde with the abbot, sayd the justyce,Bothe with cloth and fee.“Now, good syr sheryf, be my frende.”Nay for god, sayd he.“Now, good syr abbot, be my frende,For thy curteysè,And holde my londes in thy hondeTyll I have made the gree ;And I wyll be thy true servaunte,And trewely serve the,Tyl ye have foure hondred poundeOf money good and free.”The abbot sware a full grete othe,By god that dyed on a tree,Get the londe where thou may,For thou getest none of me.By dere worthy god, then sayd the knyght,That all this worlde wrought,But I have my londe agayneFull dere it shall be bought ;{22}God, that was of a mayden borneLene us142well to spede !For it is good to assay a frendeOr that a man have nede.The abbot lothely on hym gan lokeAnd vylaynesly hym gan ‘call ;’143Out, he sayd, thou false knyght,Spede the out of my hall !Thou lyest, then sayd the gentyll knyght,Abbot in thy hal ;False knyght was I never,By god that made us all.Up then stode that gentyll knyght,To the abbot sayd he,To suffre a knyght to knele so longe,Thou canst no curteysye ;In joustes and in tournementFull ferre than have I be,And put myselfe as ferre in preesAs ony that ever I se.What wyll ye gyve more ? sayd the justyce,And the knyght shall make a releyse ;And elles dare I safly swereYe holde never your londe in pees.{23}An hondred pounde, sayd the abbot.The justyce said, Gyve him two.Nay, be god, sayd the knyght,Yet gete144ye it not soo :Though ye wolde gyve a thousande more,Yet were ‘ye’145never the nere :Shall there never be myn eyre,Abbot, justyse, ne frere.He sterte hym to a borde anone,Tyll a table rounde,And there he shoke out of a baggeEven foure hondred pounde.Have here thy golde, syr abbot, sayd the knyght,Which that thou lentest me ;Haddest thou ben curteys at my comynge,Rewarde sholdest thou have be.The abbot sat styll, and ete no more,For all his ryall chere,He caste his hede on his sholdèr,And fast began to stare.Take me my golde agayne, sayd the abbot,Syr justyce, that I toke the.Not a peny, sayd the justyce,By god, that dyed on a tree.{24}“Syr abbot, and ye men of lawe,Now have I holde my daye,Now shall I have my londe agayne,For ought that you can saye.”The knyght stert out of the dore,Awaye was all his care,And on he put his good clothynge,The other he lefte there.He wente hym forthe full mery syngynge,As men have tolde in tale,His lady met hym at the gate,At home in ‘Wierysdale.’146Welcome, my lorde, sayd his lady ;Syr, lost is all your good ?Be mery, dame, sayd the knyght,And praye for Robyn Hode,That ever his soule be in blysse,He holpe me out of my tene ;Ne had not be his kyndenesse,Beggers had we ben.The abbot and I acordyd ben,He is served of his pay,The good yeman lent it me,As I came by the way.{25}This knyght than dwelled fayre at home,The soth for to say,Tyll he had got foure hondreth poundeAll redy for too paye.He purveyed hym an hondred bowes,The strenges [were] welle dyght,An hondred shefe of arowes good,The hedes burnyshed full bryght,And every arowe an elle longe,With pecocke well ydyght,Inocked all with whyte sylvèr,It was a semly syght.He purveyed hym an hondreth men,Well harneysed in that stede,And hymselfe in that same sete,147And clothed in whyte and rede.He bare a launsgay in his honde,And a man ledde his male,And reden with a lyght songe,Unto Bernysdale.As he went at a brydge ther was a wrastelyng,And there taryed was he,And there was all the best yemèn,Of all the west countree.{26}A full fayre game there was upset,A whyte bull up ipyght ;148A grete courser with sadle and brydil,With golde burneyshed full bryght ;A payre of gloves, a rede golde rynge,A pype of wyne, in good fay :What man bereth him best, I wys,The pryce shall bere away.There was a yeman in that place,And best worthy was he,And for he was ferre and frend bestad,Islayne he sholde have be.The knyght had reuth of this yemàn,In place where that he stode,He said that yoman sholde have no harme,For love of Robyn Hode.The knyght presed into the place,An hondred folowed hym ‘fre,’149With bowes bent, and arowes sharpe,For to shende that company.They sholdred all, and made hym rome,To wete that he wolde say,He toke the yeman by the honde,And gave hym all the playe ;{27}He gave hym fyve marke for his wyne,There it laye on the molde,And bad it sholde be sette a broche,Drynke who so wolde.Thus longe taryed this gentyll knyght,Tyll that playe was done,So longe abode Robyn fastynge,Thre houres after the none.
Nowe is the knyght went on this way,This game he thought full good,When he loked on Bernysdale,He blyssed Robyn Hode ;And whan he thought on Bernysdale,On Scathelock, Much, and Johan,He blyssed them for the best companyThat ever he in come.{17}Then spake that gentyll knyght,To Lytel Johan gan he saye,To morowe I must to Yorke toune,To Saynt Mary abbay ;And to the abbot of that placeFoure hondred pounde I must pay :And but I be there upon this nyghtMy londe is lost for ay.The abbot sayd to his covent,There he stode on grounde,This day twelfe moneth came there a knyghtAnd borowed foure hondred pounde.[He borowed foure hondred pounde,]Upon all his londe fre,But he come this ylke dayDysherytye shall he be.It is full erely, sayd the pryoure,140The day is not yet ferre gone,I had lever to pay an hondred pounde,And lay it downe a none.The knyght is ferre be yonde the see,In Englonde is his ryght,And suffreth honger and coldeAnd many a sory nyght ;{18}It were grete pytè, sayd the pryoure,So to have his londe,And ye be so lyght of your conseyenceYe do to him moch wronge.Thou arte euer in my berde, sayd the abbot,By god and saynt Rycharde.141With that cam in a fat-heded monke,The heygh selerer ;He is dede or hanged, sayd the monke,By god that bought me dere,And we shall have to spende in this placeFoure hondred pounde by yere.The abbot and the hy selerer,Sterte forthe full bolde,The high justyce of EnglondeThe abbot there dyde holde.{19}The hye justyce and many moHad take into their hondeHoly all the knyghtes det,To put that knyght to wronge.They demed the knyght wonder sore,The abbot and hys meynè :“But he come this ylke dayDysheryte shall he be.”He wyll not come yet, sayd the justyce,I dare well undertake.But in sorowe tyme for them allThe knyght came to the gate.Than bespake that gentyll knyghtUntyll hys meynè,Now put on your symple wedesThat ye brought fro the see.[They put on their symple wedes,]And came to the gates anone,The porter was redy hymselfe,And welcomed them everychone.Welcome, syr knyght, sayd the portèr,My lorde to mete is he,And so is many a gentyll man,For the love of the.{20}The porter swore a full grete othe,By god that made me,Here be the best coresed horsThat ever yet sawe I me.Lede them into the stable, he sayd,That eased myght they be.They shall not come therin, sayd the knyght,By god that dyed on a tre.Lordes were to mete isetteIn that abbotes hall,The knyght went forth and kneled downe,And salved them grete and small.Do gladly, syr abbot, sayd the knyght,I am come to holde my day.The fyrst word the abbot spake,Hast thou brought my pay ?Not one peny, sayd the knyght,By god that maked me.Thou art a shrewed dettour, sayd the abbot :Syr justyce, drynke to me.What doost thou here, sayd the abbot,But thou haddest brought thy pay ?For god, than sayd the knyght,To pray of a lenger daye.{21}Thy daye is broke, sayd the justyce,Londe getest thou none.“Now, good syr justyce, be my frende,And fende me of my fone.”I am holde with the abbot, sayd the justyce,Bothe with cloth and fee.“Now, good syr sheryf, be my frende.”Nay for god, sayd he.“Now, good syr abbot, be my frende,For thy curteysè,And holde my londes in thy hondeTyll I have made the gree ;And I wyll be thy true servaunte,And trewely serve the,Tyl ye have foure hondred poundeOf money good and free.”The abbot sware a full grete othe,By god that dyed on a tree,Get the londe where thou may,For thou getest none of me.By dere worthy god, then sayd the knyght,That all this worlde wrought,But I have my londe agayneFull dere it shall be bought ;{22}God, that was of a mayden borneLene us142well to spede !For it is good to assay a frendeOr that a man have nede.The abbot lothely on hym gan lokeAnd vylaynesly hym gan ‘call ;’143Out, he sayd, thou false knyght,Spede the out of my hall !Thou lyest, then sayd the gentyll knyght,Abbot in thy hal ;False knyght was I never,By god that made us all.Up then stode that gentyll knyght,To the abbot sayd he,To suffre a knyght to knele so longe,Thou canst no curteysye ;In joustes and in tournementFull ferre than have I be,And put myselfe as ferre in preesAs ony that ever I se.What wyll ye gyve more ? sayd the justyce,And the knyght shall make a releyse ;And elles dare I safly swereYe holde never your londe in pees.{23}An hondred pounde, sayd the abbot.The justyce said, Gyve him two.Nay, be god, sayd the knyght,Yet gete144ye it not soo :Though ye wolde gyve a thousande more,Yet were ‘ye’145never the nere :Shall there never be myn eyre,Abbot, justyse, ne frere.He sterte hym to a borde anone,Tyll a table rounde,And there he shoke out of a baggeEven foure hondred pounde.Have here thy golde, syr abbot, sayd the knyght,Which that thou lentest me ;Haddest thou ben curteys at my comynge,Rewarde sholdest thou have be.The abbot sat styll, and ete no more,For all his ryall chere,He caste his hede on his sholdèr,And fast began to stare.Take me my golde agayne, sayd the abbot,Syr justyce, that I toke the.Not a peny, sayd the justyce,By god, that dyed on a tree.{24}“Syr abbot, and ye men of lawe,Now have I holde my daye,Now shall I have my londe agayne,For ought that you can saye.”The knyght stert out of the dore,Awaye was all his care,And on he put his good clothynge,The other he lefte there.He wente hym forthe full mery syngynge,As men have tolde in tale,His lady met hym at the gate,At home in ‘Wierysdale.’146Welcome, my lorde, sayd his lady ;Syr, lost is all your good ?Be mery, dame, sayd the knyght,And praye for Robyn Hode,That ever his soule be in blysse,He holpe me out of my tene ;Ne had not be his kyndenesse,Beggers had we ben.The abbot and I acordyd ben,He is served of his pay,The good yeman lent it me,As I came by the way.{25}This knyght than dwelled fayre at home,The soth for to say,Tyll he had got foure hondreth poundeAll redy for too paye.He purveyed hym an hondred bowes,The strenges [were] welle dyght,An hondred shefe of arowes good,The hedes burnyshed full bryght,And every arowe an elle longe,With pecocke well ydyght,Inocked all with whyte sylvèr,It was a semly syght.He purveyed hym an hondreth men,Well harneysed in that stede,And hymselfe in that same sete,147And clothed in whyte and rede.He bare a launsgay in his honde,And a man ledde his male,And reden with a lyght songe,Unto Bernysdale.As he went at a brydge ther was a wrastelyng,And there taryed was he,And there was all the best yemèn,Of all the west countree.{26}A full fayre game there was upset,A whyte bull up ipyght ;148A grete courser with sadle and brydil,With golde burneyshed full bryght ;A payre of gloves, a rede golde rynge,A pype of wyne, in good fay :What man bereth him best, I wys,The pryce shall bere away.There was a yeman in that place,And best worthy was he,And for he was ferre and frend bestad,Islayne he sholde have be.The knyght had reuth of this yemàn,In place where that he stode,He said that yoman sholde have no harme,For love of Robyn Hode.The knyght presed into the place,An hondred folowed hym ‘fre,’149With bowes bent, and arowes sharpe,For to shende that company.They sholdred all, and made hym rome,To wete that he wolde say,He toke the yeman by the honde,And gave hym all the playe ;{27}He gave hym fyve marke for his wyne,There it laye on the molde,And bad it sholde be sette a broche,Drynke who so wolde.Thus longe taryed this gentyll knyght,Tyll that playe was done,So longe abode Robyn fastynge,Thre houres after the none.
Nowe is the knyght went on this way,This game he thought full good,When he loked on Bernysdale,He blyssed Robyn Hode ;
Nowe is the knyght went on this way,
This game he thought full good,
When he loked on Bernysdale,
He blyssed Robyn Hode ;
And whan he thought on Bernysdale,On Scathelock, Much, and Johan,He blyssed them for the best companyThat ever he in come.{17}
And whan he thought on Bernysdale,
On Scathelock, Much, and Johan,
He blyssed them for the best company
That ever he in come.{17}
Then spake that gentyll knyght,To Lytel Johan gan he saye,To morowe I must to Yorke toune,To Saynt Mary abbay ;
Then spake that gentyll knyght,
To Lytel Johan gan he saye,
To morowe I must to Yorke toune,
To Saynt Mary abbay ;
And to the abbot of that placeFoure hondred pounde I must pay :And but I be there upon this nyghtMy londe is lost for ay.
And to the abbot of that place
Foure hondred pounde I must pay :
And but I be there upon this nyght
My londe is lost for ay.
The abbot sayd to his covent,There he stode on grounde,This day twelfe moneth came there a knyghtAnd borowed foure hondred pounde.
The abbot sayd to his covent,
There he stode on grounde,
This day twelfe moneth came there a knyght
And borowed foure hondred pounde.
[He borowed foure hondred pounde,]Upon all his londe fre,But he come this ylke dayDysherytye shall he be.
[He borowed foure hondred pounde,]
Upon all his londe fre,
But he come this ylke day
Dysherytye shall he be.
It is full erely, sayd the pryoure,140The day is not yet ferre gone,I had lever to pay an hondred pounde,And lay it downe a none.
It is full erely, sayd the pryoure,140
The day is not yet ferre gone,
I had lever to pay an hondred pounde,
And lay it downe a none.
The knyght is ferre be yonde the see,In Englonde is his ryght,And suffreth honger and coldeAnd many a sory nyght ;{18}
The knyght is ferre be yonde the see,
In Englonde is his ryght,
And suffreth honger and colde
And many a sory nyght ;{18}
It were grete pytè, sayd the pryoure,So to have his londe,And ye be so lyght of your conseyenceYe do to him moch wronge.
It were grete pytè, sayd the pryoure,
So to have his londe,
And ye be so lyght of your conseyence
Ye do to him moch wronge.
Thou arte euer in my berde, sayd the abbot,By god and saynt Rycharde.141With that cam in a fat-heded monke,The heygh selerer ;
Thou arte euer in my berde, sayd the abbot,
By god and saynt Rycharde.141
With that cam in a fat-heded monke,
The heygh selerer ;
He is dede or hanged, sayd the monke,By god that bought me dere,And we shall have to spende in this placeFoure hondred pounde by yere.
He is dede or hanged, sayd the monke,
By god that bought me dere,
And we shall have to spende in this place
Foure hondred pounde by yere.
The abbot and the hy selerer,Sterte forthe full bolde,The high justyce of EnglondeThe abbot there dyde holde.{19}
The abbot and the hy selerer,
Sterte forthe full bolde,
The high justyce of Englonde
The abbot there dyde holde.{19}
The hye justyce and many moHad take into their hondeHoly all the knyghtes det,To put that knyght to wronge.
The hye justyce and many mo
Had take into their honde
Holy all the knyghtes det,
To put that knyght to wronge.
They demed the knyght wonder sore,The abbot and hys meynè :“But he come this ylke dayDysheryte shall he be.”
They demed the knyght wonder sore,
The abbot and hys meynè :
“But he come this ylke day
Dysheryte shall he be.”
He wyll not come yet, sayd the justyce,I dare well undertake.But in sorowe tyme for them allThe knyght came to the gate.
He wyll not come yet, sayd the justyce,
I dare well undertake.
But in sorowe tyme for them all
The knyght came to the gate.
Than bespake that gentyll knyghtUntyll hys meynè,Now put on your symple wedesThat ye brought fro the see.
Than bespake that gentyll knyght
Untyll hys meynè,
Now put on your symple wedes
That ye brought fro the see.
[They put on their symple wedes,]And came to the gates anone,The porter was redy hymselfe,And welcomed them everychone.
[They put on their symple wedes,]
And came to the gates anone,
The porter was redy hymselfe,
And welcomed them everychone.
Welcome, syr knyght, sayd the portèr,My lorde to mete is he,And so is many a gentyll man,For the love of the.{20}
Welcome, syr knyght, sayd the portèr,
My lorde to mete is he,
And so is many a gentyll man,
For the love of the.{20}
The porter swore a full grete othe,By god that made me,Here be the best coresed horsThat ever yet sawe I me.
The porter swore a full grete othe,
By god that made me,
Here be the best coresed hors
That ever yet sawe I me.
Lede them into the stable, he sayd,That eased myght they be.They shall not come therin, sayd the knyght,By god that dyed on a tre.
Lede them into the stable, he sayd,
That eased myght they be.
They shall not come therin, sayd the knyght,
By god that dyed on a tre.
Lordes were to mete isetteIn that abbotes hall,The knyght went forth and kneled downe,And salved them grete and small.
Lordes were to mete isette
In that abbotes hall,
The knyght went forth and kneled downe,
And salved them grete and small.
Do gladly, syr abbot, sayd the knyght,I am come to holde my day.The fyrst word the abbot spake,Hast thou brought my pay ?
Do gladly, syr abbot, sayd the knyght,
I am come to holde my day.
The fyrst word the abbot spake,
Hast thou brought my pay ?
Not one peny, sayd the knyght,By god that maked me.Thou art a shrewed dettour, sayd the abbot :Syr justyce, drynke to me.
Not one peny, sayd the knyght,
By god that maked me.
Thou art a shrewed dettour, sayd the abbot :
Syr justyce, drynke to me.
What doost thou here, sayd the abbot,But thou haddest brought thy pay ?For god, than sayd the knyght,To pray of a lenger daye.{21}
What doost thou here, sayd the abbot,
But thou haddest brought thy pay ?
For god, than sayd the knyght,
To pray of a lenger daye.{21}
Thy daye is broke, sayd the justyce,Londe getest thou none.“Now, good syr justyce, be my frende,And fende me of my fone.”
Thy daye is broke, sayd the justyce,
Londe getest thou none.
“Now, good syr justyce, be my frende,
And fende me of my fone.”
I am holde with the abbot, sayd the justyce,Bothe with cloth and fee.“Now, good syr sheryf, be my frende.”Nay for god, sayd he.
I am holde with the abbot, sayd the justyce,
Bothe with cloth and fee.
“Now, good syr sheryf, be my frende.”
Nay for god, sayd he.
“Now, good syr abbot, be my frende,For thy curteysè,And holde my londes in thy hondeTyll I have made the gree ;
“Now, good syr abbot, be my frende,
For thy curteysè,
And holde my londes in thy honde
Tyll I have made the gree ;
And I wyll be thy true servaunte,And trewely serve the,Tyl ye have foure hondred poundeOf money good and free.”
And I wyll be thy true servaunte,
And trewely serve the,
Tyl ye have foure hondred pounde
Of money good and free.”
The abbot sware a full grete othe,By god that dyed on a tree,Get the londe where thou may,For thou getest none of me.
The abbot sware a full grete othe,
By god that dyed on a tree,
Get the londe where thou may,
For thou getest none of me.
By dere worthy god, then sayd the knyght,That all this worlde wrought,But I have my londe agayneFull dere it shall be bought ;{22}
By dere worthy god, then sayd the knyght,
That all this worlde wrought,
But I have my londe agayne
Full dere it shall be bought ;{22}
God, that was of a mayden borneLene us142well to spede !For it is good to assay a frendeOr that a man have nede.
God, that was of a mayden borne
Lene us142well to spede !
For it is good to assay a frende
Or that a man have nede.
The abbot lothely on hym gan lokeAnd vylaynesly hym gan ‘call ;’143Out, he sayd, thou false knyght,Spede the out of my hall !
The abbot lothely on hym gan loke
And vylaynesly hym gan ‘call ;’143
Out, he sayd, thou false knyght,
Spede the out of my hall !
Thou lyest, then sayd the gentyll knyght,Abbot in thy hal ;False knyght was I never,By god that made us all.
Thou lyest, then sayd the gentyll knyght,
Abbot in thy hal ;
False knyght was I never,
By god that made us all.
Up then stode that gentyll knyght,To the abbot sayd he,To suffre a knyght to knele so longe,Thou canst no curteysye ;
Up then stode that gentyll knyght,
To the abbot sayd he,
To suffre a knyght to knele so longe,
Thou canst no curteysye ;
In joustes and in tournementFull ferre than have I be,And put myselfe as ferre in preesAs ony that ever I se.
In joustes and in tournement
Full ferre than have I be,
And put myselfe as ferre in prees
As ony that ever I se.
What wyll ye gyve more ? sayd the justyce,And the knyght shall make a releyse ;And elles dare I safly swereYe holde never your londe in pees.{23}
What wyll ye gyve more ? sayd the justyce,
And the knyght shall make a releyse ;
And elles dare I safly swere
Ye holde never your londe in pees.{23}
An hondred pounde, sayd the abbot.The justyce said, Gyve him two.Nay, be god, sayd the knyght,Yet gete144ye it not soo :
An hondred pounde, sayd the abbot.
The justyce said, Gyve him two.
Nay, be god, sayd the knyght,
Yet gete144ye it not soo :
Though ye wolde gyve a thousande more,Yet were ‘ye’145never the nere :Shall there never be myn eyre,Abbot, justyse, ne frere.
Though ye wolde gyve a thousande more,
Yet were ‘ye’145never the nere :
Shall there never be myn eyre,
Abbot, justyse, ne frere.
He sterte hym to a borde anone,Tyll a table rounde,And there he shoke out of a baggeEven foure hondred pounde.
He sterte hym to a borde anone,
Tyll a table rounde,
And there he shoke out of a bagge
Even foure hondred pounde.
Have here thy golde, syr abbot, sayd the knyght,Which that thou lentest me ;Haddest thou ben curteys at my comynge,Rewarde sholdest thou have be.
Have here thy golde, syr abbot, sayd the knyght,
Which that thou lentest me ;
Haddest thou ben curteys at my comynge,
Rewarde sholdest thou have be.
The abbot sat styll, and ete no more,For all his ryall chere,He caste his hede on his sholdèr,And fast began to stare.
The abbot sat styll, and ete no more,
For all his ryall chere,
He caste his hede on his sholdèr,
And fast began to stare.
Take me my golde agayne, sayd the abbot,Syr justyce, that I toke the.Not a peny, sayd the justyce,By god, that dyed on a tree.{24}
Take me my golde agayne, sayd the abbot,
Syr justyce, that I toke the.
Not a peny, sayd the justyce,
By god, that dyed on a tree.{24}
“Syr abbot, and ye men of lawe,Now have I holde my daye,Now shall I have my londe agayne,For ought that you can saye.”
“Syr abbot, and ye men of lawe,
Now have I holde my daye,
Now shall I have my londe agayne,
For ought that you can saye.”
The knyght stert out of the dore,Awaye was all his care,And on he put his good clothynge,The other he lefte there.
The knyght stert out of the dore,
Awaye was all his care,
And on he put his good clothynge,
The other he lefte there.
He wente hym forthe full mery syngynge,As men have tolde in tale,His lady met hym at the gate,At home in ‘Wierysdale.’146
He wente hym forthe full mery syngynge,
As men have tolde in tale,
His lady met hym at the gate,
At home in ‘Wierysdale.’146
Welcome, my lorde, sayd his lady ;Syr, lost is all your good ?Be mery, dame, sayd the knyght,And praye for Robyn Hode,
Welcome, my lorde, sayd his lady ;
Syr, lost is all your good ?
Be mery, dame, sayd the knyght,
And praye for Robyn Hode,
That ever his soule be in blysse,He holpe me out of my tene ;Ne had not be his kyndenesse,Beggers had we ben.
That ever his soule be in blysse,
He holpe me out of my tene ;
Ne had not be his kyndenesse,
Beggers had we ben.
The abbot and I acordyd ben,He is served of his pay,The good yeman lent it me,As I came by the way.{25}
The abbot and I acordyd ben,
He is served of his pay,
The good yeman lent it me,
As I came by the way.{25}
This knyght than dwelled fayre at home,The soth for to say,Tyll he had got foure hondreth poundeAll redy for too paye.
This knyght than dwelled fayre at home,
The soth for to say,
Tyll he had got foure hondreth pounde
All redy for too paye.
He purveyed hym an hondred bowes,The strenges [were] welle dyght,An hondred shefe of arowes good,The hedes burnyshed full bryght,
He purveyed hym an hondred bowes,
The strenges [were] welle dyght,
An hondred shefe of arowes good,
The hedes burnyshed full bryght,
And every arowe an elle longe,With pecocke well ydyght,Inocked all with whyte sylvèr,It was a semly syght.
And every arowe an elle longe,
With pecocke well ydyght,
Inocked all with whyte sylvèr,
It was a semly syght.
He purveyed hym an hondreth men,Well harneysed in that stede,And hymselfe in that same sete,147And clothed in whyte and rede.
He purveyed hym an hondreth men,
Well harneysed in that stede,
And hymselfe in that same sete,147
And clothed in whyte and rede.
He bare a launsgay in his honde,And a man ledde his male,And reden with a lyght songe,Unto Bernysdale.
He bare a launsgay in his honde,
And a man ledde his male,
And reden with a lyght songe,
Unto Bernysdale.
As he went at a brydge ther was a wrastelyng,And there taryed was he,And there was all the best yemèn,Of all the west countree.{26}
As he went at a brydge ther was a wrastelyng,
And there taryed was he,
And there was all the best yemèn,
Of all the west countree.{26}
A full fayre game there was upset,A whyte bull up ipyght ;148A grete courser with sadle and brydil,With golde burneyshed full bryght ;
A full fayre game there was upset,
A whyte bull up ipyght ;148
A grete courser with sadle and brydil,
With golde burneyshed full bryght ;
A payre of gloves, a rede golde rynge,A pype of wyne, in good fay :What man bereth him best, I wys,The pryce shall bere away.
A payre of gloves, a rede golde rynge,
A pype of wyne, in good fay :
What man bereth him best, I wys,
The pryce shall bere away.
There was a yeman in that place,And best worthy was he,And for he was ferre and frend bestad,Islayne he sholde have be.
There was a yeman in that place,
And best worthy was he,
And for he was ferre and frend bestad,
Islayne he sholde have be.
The knyght had reuth of this yemàn,In place where that he stode,He said that yoman sholde have no harme,For love of Robyn Hode.
The knyght had reuth of this yemàn,
In place where that he stode,
He said that yoman sholde have no harme,
For love of Robyn Hode.
The knyght presed into the place,An hondred folowed hym ‘fre,’149With bowes bent, and arowes sharpe,For to shende that company.
The knyght presed into the place,
An hondred folowed hym ‘fre,’149
With bowes bent, and arowes sharpe,
For to shende that company.
They sholdred all, and made hym rome,To wete that he wolde say,He toke the yeman by the honde,And gave hym all the playe ;{27}
They sholdred all, and made hym rome,
To wete that he wolde say,
He toke the yeman by the honde,
And gave hym all the playe ;{27}
He gave hym fyve marke for his wyne,There it laye on the molde,And bad it sholde be sette a broche,Drynke who so wolde.
He gave hym fyve marke for his wyne,
There it laye on the molde,
And bad it sholde be sette a broche,
Drynke who so wolde.
Thus longe taryed this gentyll knyght,Tyll that playe was done,So longe abode Robyn fastynge,Thre houres after the none.
Thus longe taryed this gentyll knyght,
Tyll that playe was done,
So longe abode Robyn fastynge,
Thre houres after the none.