THE FYFTH FYTTE.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, gentil men,And herken what I shall say,How the proud sheryfe of NotynghamDyde crye a full fayre play ;{51}That all the best archers of the northSholde come upon a day,And ‘he’ that shoteth ‘alder’ best177The game shall bere away.“He that shoteth ‘alder’178bestFurthest fayre and lowe,At a payre of fynly buttes,Under the grene wode shawe,A ryght good arowe he shall have,The shaft of sylver whyte,The heade and the feders of ryche red golde,In Englond is none lyke.”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,Ye 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,Seven score of wyght yonge menStode by Robyns kne.{52}Whan they cam to Notyngham,The buttes were fayre and longe,Many was the bolde archereThat shoted with bowes stronge.“There shall but syx shote with me,The other shal kepe my hede,And stande with good bowes bentThat I be not desceyved.”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,And alway he slist179the wand,And so dyde good Gylberte,With the whyte hande.Lytell Johan and good ScathelokeWere archers good and fre ;Lytell Much and good Reynolde,The worste wolde they not be.Whan they had shot aboute,These archours fayre and good,Evermore was the best,Forsoth, Robyn Hode.{53}Hym was delyvered the goode aròw,For best worthy was he ;He toke the yeft so curteysly,To grene wode wolde he.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 we be thou, thou proud sheryf,Thus gladdynge thy gest,Other wyse thou behote meIn yonder wylde forest ;But had I the in grene wode,Under my trystell tre,Thou 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,And hurt many a syde.The outlawes shot was so stronge,That no man myght them dryve,And the proud sheryfes menThey fled away full blyve.180{54}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,With 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,And for that ylke lordes love,That dyed upon a tre,And for the medes of my servyceThat I have served the,Lete never the proude sheryfAlyve 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.181I wolde not that, sayd Robyn,Johan, that thou were slawe,For all the golde in mery Englond,Though it lay now on a rawe{55}God forbede, sayd lytell Much,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,Many a tyme he layd hym downeAnd shot another whyle.Then was there a fayre castèll,A lytell within the wode,Double-dyched it was about,And walled, by the rode ;And there dwelled that gentyll knyght,Syr Rychard at the Lee,That Robyn had lent his good,Under the grene wode tree.In he toke good Robyn,And all his company :“Welcome be thou, Robyn Hode,Welcome arte thou [to] me ;And moche [I] thanke the of thy comfort,And of thy curteysye,And of thy grete kyndenesse,Under the grene wode tre ;{56}I love no man in all this worldeSo moch as I do the ;For 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,And 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.”Bordes 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, gentil men,And herken what I shall say,How the proud sheryfe of NotynghamDyde crye a full fayre play ;{51}That all the best archers of the northSholde come upon a day,And ‘he’ that shoteth ‘alder’ best177The game shall bere away.“He that shoteth ‘alder’178bestFurthest fayre and lowe,At a payre of fynly buttes,Under the grene wode shawe,A ryght good arowe he shall have,The shaft of sylver whyte,The heade and the feders of ryche red golde,In Englond is none lyke.”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,Ye 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,Seven score of wyght yonge menStode by Robyns kne.{52}Whan they cam to Notyngham,The buttes were fayre and longe,Many was the bolde archereThat shoted with bowes stronge.“There shall but syx shote with me,The other shal kepe my hede,And stande with good bowes bentThat I be not desceyved.”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,And alway he slist179the wand,And so dyde good Gylberte,With the whyte hande.Lytell Johan and good ScathelokeWere archers good and fre ;Lytell Much and good Reynolde,The worste wolde they not be.Whan they had shot aboute,These archours fayre and good,Evermore was the best,Forsoth, Robyn Hode.{53}Hym was delyvered the goode aròw,For best worthy was he ;He toke the yeft so curteysly,To grene wode wolde he.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 we be thou, thou proud sheryf,Thus gladdynge thy gest,Other wyse thou behote meIn yonder wylde forest ;But had I the in grene wode,Under my trystell tre,Thou 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,And hurt many a syde.The outlawes shot was so stronge,That no man myght them dryve,And the proud sheryfes menThey fled away full blyve.180{54}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,With 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,And for that ylke lordes love,That dyed upon a tre,And for the medes of my servyceThat I have served the,Lete never the proude sheryfAlyve 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.181I wolde not that, sayd Robyn,Johan, that thou were slawe,For all the golde in mery Englond,Though it lay now on a rawe{55}God forbede, sayd lytell Much,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,Many a tyme he layd hym downeAnd shot another whyle.Then was there a fayre castèll,A lytell within the wode,Double-dyched it was about,And walled, by the rode ;And there dwelled that gentyll knyght,Syr Rychard at the Lee,That Robyn had lent his good,Under the grene wode tree.In he toke good Robyn,And all his company :“Welcome be thou, Robyn Hode,Welcome arte thou [to] me ;And moche [I] thanke the of thy comfort,And of thy curteysye,And of thy grete kyndenesse,Under the grene wode tre ;{56}I love no man in all this worldeSo moch as I do the ;For 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,And 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.”Bordes 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.
Now hath the knyght his leve itake,
And wente hym on his way ;
Robyn Hode and his mery men
Dwelled styll full many a day.
Lyth and lysten, gentil men,And herken what I shall say,How the proud sheryfe of NotynghamDyde crye a full fayre play ;{51}
Lyth and lysten, gentil men,
And herken what I shall say,
How the proud sheryfe of Notyngham
Dyde crye a full fayre play ;{51}
That all the best archers of the northSholde come upon a day,And ‘he’ that shoteth ‘alder’ best177The game shall bere away.
That all the best archers of the north
Sholde come upon a day,
And ‘he’ that shoteth ‘alder’ best177
The game shall bere away.
“He that shoteth ‘alder’178bestFurthest fayre and lowe,At a payre of fynly buttes,Under the grene wode shawe,
“He that shoteth ‘alder’178best
Furthest fayre and lowe,
At a payre of fynly buttes,
Under the grene wode shawe,
A ryght good arowe he shall have,The shaft of sylver whyte,The heade and the feders of ryche red golde,In Englond is none lyke.”
A ryght good arowe he shall have,
The shaft of sylver whyte,
The heade and the feders of ryche red golde,
In Englond is none lyke.”
This then herde good Robyn,Under his trystell tre :“Make you redy, ye wyght yonge men,That shotynge wyll I se.
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,Ye shall go with me ;And I wyll wete the shryves fayth,Trewe and yf he be.”
Buske you, my mery yonge men,
Ye 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,Seven score of wyght yonge menStode by Robyns kne.{52}
Whan they had theyr bowes ibent,
Theyr takles fedred fre,
Seven score of wyght yonge men
Stode by Robyns kne.{52}
Whan they cam to Notyngham,The buttes were fayre and longe,Many was the bolde archereThat shoted with bowes stronge.
Whan they cam to Notyngham,
The buttes were fayre and longe,
Many was the bolde archere
That shoted with bowes stronge.
“There shall but syx shote with me,The other shal kepe my hede,And stande with good bowes bentThat I be not desceyved.”
“There shall but syx shote with me,
The other shal kepe my hede,
And stande with good bowes bent
That I be not desceyved.”
The fourth outlawe his bowe gan bende,And that was Robyn Hode,And that behelde the proude sheryfe,All by the but he stode.
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,And alway he slist179the wand,And so dyde good Gylberte,With the whyte hande.
Thryes Robyn shot about,
And alway he slist179the wand,
And so dyde good Gylberte,
With the whyte hande.
Lytell Johan and good ScathelokeWere archers good and fre ;Lytell Much and good Reynolde,The worste wolde they not be.
Lytell Johan and good Scatheloke
Were archers good and fre ;
Lytell Much and good Reynolde,
The worste wolde they not be.
Whan they had shot aboute,These archours fayre and good,Evermore was the best,Forsoth, Robyn Hode.{53}
Whan they had shot aboute,
These archours fayre and good,
Evermore was the best,
Forsoth, Robyn Hode.{53}
Hym was delyvered the goode aròw,For best worthy was he ;He toke the yeft so curteysly,To grene wode wolde he.
Hym was delyvered the goode aròw,
For best worthy was he ;
He toke the yeft so curteysly,
To grene wode wolde he.
They cryed out on Robyn Hode,And great hornes gan they blowe.Wo worth the, treason ! sayd Robyn,Full evyl thou art to knowe.
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 we be thou, thou proud sheryf,Thus gladdynge thy gest,Other wyse thou behote meIn yonder wylde forest ;
And we be thou, thou proud sheryf,
Thus gladdynge thy gest,
Other wyse thou behote me
In yonder wylde forest ;
But had I the in grene wode,Under my trystell tre,Thou sholdest leve me a better weddeThan thy trewe lewtè.
But had I the in grene wode,
Under my trystell tre,
Thou sholdest leve me a better wedde
Than thy trewe lewtè.
Full many a bowe there was bent,And arowes let they glyde,Many a kyrtell there was rent,And hurt many a syde.
Full many a bowe there was bent,
And arowes let they glyde,
Many a kyrtell there was rent,
And hurt many a syde.
The outlawes shot was so stronge,That no man myght them dryve,And the proud sheryfes menThey fled away full blyve.180{54}
The outlawes shot was so stronge,
That no man myght them dryve,
And the proud sheryfes men
They fled away full blyve.180{54}
Robyn sawe the busshement to-broke,In grene wode he wolde have be,Many an arowe there was shotAmonge that company.
Robyn sawe the busshement to-broke,
In grene wode he wolde have be,
Many an arowe there was shot
Amonge that company.
Lytell Johan was hurte full sore,With an arowe in his kne,That he myght neyther go nor ryde ;It was full grete pytè.
Lytell Johan was hurte full sore,
With 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,And for that ylke lordes love,That dyed upon a tre,
Mayster, then sayd Lytell Johan,
If ever thou lovest me,
And for that ylke lordes love,
That dyed upon a tre,
And for the medes of my servyceThat I have served the,Lete never the proude sheryfAlyve now fynde me ;
And for the medes of my servyce
That I have served the,
Lete never the proude sheryf
Alyve 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.181
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.181
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{55}
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{55}
God forbede, sayd lytell Much,That dyed on a tre,That thou sholdest, Lytell Johan,Parte our company.
God forbede, sayd lytell Much,
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,Many a tyme he layd hym downeAnd shot another whyle.
Up he toke him on his backe,
And bare hym well a myle,
Many 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,And walled, by the rode ;
Then was there a fayre castèll,
A lytell within the wode,
Double-dyched it was about,
And walled, by the rode ;
And there dwelled that gentyll knyght,Syr Rychard at the Lee,That Robyn had lent his good,Under the grene wode tree.
And there dwelled that gentyll knyght,
Syr Rychard at the Lee,
That Robyn had lent his good,
Under the grene wode tree.
In he toke good Robyn,And all his company :“Welcome be thou, Robyn Hode,Welcome arte thou [to] me ;
In he toke good Robyn,
And all his company :
“Welcome be thou, Robyn Hode,
Welcome arte thou [to] me ;
And moche [I] thanke the of thy comfort,And of thy curteysye,And of thy grete kyndenesse,Under the grene wode tre ;{56}
And moche [I] thanke the of thy comfort,
And of thy curteysye,
And of thy grete kyndenesse,
Under the grene wode tre ;{56}
I love no man in all this worldeSo moch as I do the ;For all the proud sheryf of Notyngham,Ryght here shalt thou be.
I love no man in all this worlde
So moch as I do the ;
For 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,And to the walle ye wynne.
Shyt the gates, and drawe the bridge,
And let no man com in ;
And arme you well, and make you redy,
And 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.”
For one thyng, Robyn, I the behote,
I swere by saynt Quyntyn,
These twelve dayes thou wonest with me,
To suppe, ete, and dyne.”
Bordes were layed, and clothes spred,Reddely and anone ;Robyn Hode and his mery menTo mete gan they gone.
Bordes were layed, and clothes spred,
Reddely and anone ;
Robyn Hode and his mery men
To mete gan they gone.