THE EIGHTH FYTTE.Haste thou ony grene cloth, sayd our kynge,That thou wylte sell nowe to me ?Ye, for god, sayd Robyn,Thyrty yerdes and thre.Robyn, sayd our kynge,Now pray I the,To sell me some of that cloth,To me and my meynè.Yes, for god,206then sayd Robyn,Or elles I were a fole ;Another day ye wyll me clothe,I trowe, ayenst the Yole.{75}The kynge kest of his cote then,A grene garment he dyde on,And every knyght had so, I wys,They clothed them full soone.207Whan they were clothed in Lyncolne grene,They kest away theyr graye.Now we shall to Notyngham,All thus our kynge gan say.Theyr bowes bente and forth they went,Shotynge all in-fere,Towarde the towne of Notyngham,Outlawes as they were.Our kynge and Robyn rode togyder,For soth as I you say,And they shote plucke-buffet,As they went by the way ;And many a buffet our kynge wanOf Robyn Hode that day ;And nothynge spared good RobynOur kynge in his pay.So god me helpe, sayd our kynge,Thy game is nought to lere,I sholde not get a shote of the,Though I shote all this yere.{76}All the people of NotynghamThey stode and behelde,They sawe nothynge but mantels of greneThat covered all the felde ;Than every man to other gan say,I drede our kynge be slone ;Come Robyn Hode to the towne, I wys,On lyve he leveth not one.208Full hastly they began to fle,Both yemen and knaves,And olde wyves that myght evyll goo,They hypped on theyr staves.The kynge loughe209full fast,And commanded theym agayne ;When they se our comly kynge,I wys they were full fayne.They ete and dranke, and made them glad,And sange with notes hye.Than bespake our comly kyngeTo syr Rycharde at the Lee :He gave hym there his londe agayne,A good man he bad hym be.Robyn thanked our comly kynge,And set hym on his kne.{77}Had Robyn dwelled in the kynges courteBut twelve monethes and thre,That he had spent an hondred pounde,And all his mennes fe.In every place where Robyn came,Ever more he layde downe,Both for knyghtes and for squyres,To gete hym grete renowne.By than the yere was all agone,He had no man but twayne,Lytell Johan and good Scathelocke,Wyth hym all for to gone.Robyn sawe yonge men shote,Full fayre210upon a day,Alas ! than sayd good Robyn,My welthe is went away.Somtyme I was an archere good,A styffe and eke a stronge,I was commytted211the best archere,That was in mery Englonde.Alas ! then sayd good Robyn,Alas and well a woo !Yf I dwele lenger with the kynge,Sorowe wyll me sloo.{78}Forth than went Robyn Hode,Tyll he came to our kynge :“My lorde the kynge of Englonde,Graunte me myn askynge.I made a chapell in Bernysdale,That semely is to se,It is of Mary Magdalene,And thereto wolde I be ;I myght never in this seven nyght,No tyme to slepe ne wynke,Nother all these seven dayes,Nother ete ne drynke.Me longeth sore to Bernysdale,I may not be therfro,Barefote and wolwarde I have hyghtThyder for to go.”Yf it be so, than sayd our kynge,It may no better be ;Seven nyght I gyve the leve,No lengre, to dwell fro me.Gramercy, lorde, then sayd Robyn,And set hym on his kne ;He toke his leve full courteysly,To grene wode then went he.{79}Whan he came to grene wode,In a mery mornynge,There he herde the notes smallOf byrdes mery syngynge.It is ferre gone, sayd Robyn,That I was last here,Me lyste a lytell for to shoteAt the donne dere.Robyn slewe a full grete harte,His horne than gan he blow,That all the outlawes of that forèst,That horne coud they knowe,And gadred them togyder,In a lytell throwe,Seven score of wight yonge men,Came redy on a rowe ;And fayre dyde of theyr hodes,And set them on theyr kne :Welcome, they sayd, our maystèr,Under this grene wode tre.Robyn dwelled in grene wode,Twenty yere and two,For all drede of Edwarde our kyngeAgayne wolde he not goo.{80}Yet he was begyled, I wys,Through a wycked womàn,The pryoresse of Kyrkesly,That nye was of his kynne,For the love of a knyght,Syr Roger of Donkestèr,212That was her owne speciall,Full evyll mote they ‘fare.’213They toke togyder theyr counsellRobyn Hode for to sle,And how they myght best do that dede,His banis for to be.Than bespake good Robyn,In place where as he stode,To morow I muste to Kyrkesley,Craftely to be leten blode.Sir Roger of Donkestere,By the pryoresse he lay,And there they betrayed good Robyn HodeThrough theyr false playe.Cryst have mercy on his soule,That dyed on the rode !For he was a good outlawe,And dyde pore men moch god.
Haste thou ony grene cloth, sayd our kynge,That thou wylte sell nowe to me ?Ye, for god, sayd Robyn,Thyrty yerdes and thre.Robyn, sayd our kynge,Now pray I the,To sell me some of that cloth,To me and my meynè.Yes, for god,206then sayd Robyn,Or elles I were a fole ;Another day ye wyll me clothe,I trowe, ayenst the Yole.{75}The kynge kest of his cote then,A grene garment he dyde on,And every knyght had so, I wys,They clothed them full soone.207Whan they were clothed in Lyncolne grene,They kest away theyr graye.Now we shall to Notyngham,All thus our kynge gan say.Theyr bowes bente and forth they went,Shotynge all in-fere,Towarde the towne of Notyngham,Outlawes as they were.Our kynge and Robyn rode togyder,For soth as I you say,And they shote plucke-buffet,As they went by the way ;And many a buffet our kynge wanOf Robyn Hode that day ;And nothynge spared good RobynOur kynge in his pay.So god me helpe, sayd our kynge,Thy game is nought to lere,I sholde not get a shote of the,Though I shote all this yere.{76}All the people of NotynghamThey stode and behelde,They sawe nothynge but mantels of greneThat covered all the felde ;Than every man to other gan say,I drede our kynge be slone ;Come Robyn Hode to the towne, I wys,On lyve he leveth not one.208Full hastly they began to fle,Both yemen and knaves,And olde wyves that myght evyll goo,They hypped on theyr staves.The kynge loughe209full fast,And commanded theym agayne ;When they se our comly kynge,I wys they were full fayne.They ete and dranke, and made them glad,And sange with notes hye.Than bespake our comly kyngeTo syr Rycharde at the Lee :He gave hym there his londe agayne,A good man he bad hym be.Robyn thanked our comly kynge,And set hym on his kne.{77}Had Robyn dwelled in the kynges courteBut twelve monethes and thre,That he had spent an hondred pounde,And all his mennes fe.In every place where Robyn came,Ever more he layde downe,Both for knyghtes and for squyres,To gete hym grete renowne.By than the yere was all agone,He had no man but twayne,Lytell Johan and good Scathelocke,Wyth hym all for to gone.Robyn sawe yonge men shote,Full fayre210upon a day,Alas ! than sayd good Robyn,My welthe is went away.Somtyme I was an archere good,A styffe and eke a stronge,I was commytted211the best archere,That was in mery Englonde.Alas ! then sayd good Robyn,Alas and well a woo !Yf I dwele lenger with the kynge,Sorowe wyll me sloo.{78}Forth than went Robyn Hode,Tyll he came to our kynge :“My lorde the kynge of Englonde,Graunte me myn askynge.I made a chapell in Bernysdale,That semely is to se,It is of Mary Magdalene,And thereto wolde I be ;I myght never in this seven nyght,No tyme to slepe ne wynke,Nother all these seven dayes,Nother ete ne drynke.Me longeth sore to Bernysdale,I may not be therfro,Barefote and wolwarde I have hyghtThyder for to go.”Yf it be so, than sayd our kynge,It may no better be ;Seven nyght I gyve the leve,No lengre, to dwell fro me.Gramercy, lorde, then sayd Robyn,And set hym on his kne ;He toke his leve full courteysly,To grene wode then went he.{79}Whan he came to grene wode,In a mery mornynge,There he herde the notes smallOf byrdes mery syngynge.It is ferre gone, sayd Robyn,That I was last here,Me lyste a lytell for to shoteAt the donne dere.Robyn slewe a full grete harte,His horne than gan he blow,That all the outlawes of that forèst,That horne coud they knowe,And gadred them togyder,In a lytell throwe,Seven score of wight yonge men,Came redy on a rowe ;And fayre dyde of theyr hodes,And set them on theyr kne :Welcome, they sayd, our maystèr,Under this grene wode tre.Robyn dwelled in grene wode,Twenty yere and two,For all drede of Edwarde our kyngeAgayne wolde he not goo.{80}Yet he was begyled, I wys,Through a wycked womàn,The pryoresse of Kyrkesly,That nye was of his kynne,For the love of a knyght,Syr Roger of Donkestèr,212That was her owne speciall,Full evyll mote they ‘fare.’213They toke togyder theyr counsellRobyn Hode for to sle,And how they myght best do that dede,His banis for to be.Than bespake good Robyn,In place where as he stode,To morow I muste to Kyrkesley,Craftely to be leten blode.Sir Roger of Donkestere,By the pryoresse he lay,And there they betrayed good Robyn HodeThrough theyr false playe.Cryst have mercy on his soule,That dyed on the rode !For he was a good outlawe,And dyde pore men moch god.
Haste thou ony grene cloth, sayd our kynge,That thou wylte sell nowe to me ?Ye, for god, sayd Robyn,Thyrty yerdes and thre.
Haste thou ony grene cloth, sayd our kynge,
That thou wylte sell nowe to me ?
Ye, for god, sayd Robyn,
Thyrty yerdes and thre.
Robyn, sayd our kynge,Now pray I the,To sell me some of that cloth,To me and my meynè.
Robyn, sayd our kynge,
Now pray I the,
To sell me some of that cloth,
To me and my meynè.
Yes, for god,206then sayd Robyn,Or elles I were a fole ;Another day ye wyll me clothe,I trowe, ayenst the Yole.{75}
Yes, for god,206then sayd Robyn,
Or elles I were a fole ;
Another day ye wyll me clothe,
I trowe, ayenst the Yole.{75}
The kynge kest of his cote then,A grene garment he dyde on,And every knyght had so, I wys,They clothed them full soone.207
The kynge kest of his cote then,
A grene garment he dyde on,
And every knyght had so, I wys,
They clothed them full soone.207
Whan they were clothed in Lyncolne grene,They kest away theyr graye.Now we shall to Notyngham,All thus our kynge gan say.
Whan they were clothed in Lyncolne grene,
They kest away theyr graye.
Now we shall to Notyngham,
All thus our kynge gan say.
Theyr bowes bente and forth they went,Shotynge all in-fere,Towarde the towne of Notyngham,Outlawes as they were.
Theyr bowes bente and forth they went,
Shotynge all in-fere,
Towarde the towne of Notyngham,
Outlawes as they were.
Our kynge and Robyn rode togyder,For soth as I you say,And they shote plucke-buffet,As they went by the way ;
Our kynge and Robyn rode togyder,
For soth as I you say,
And they shote plucke-buffet,
As they went by the way ;
And many a buffet our kynge wanOf Robyn Hode that day ;And nothynge spared good RobynOur kynge in his pay.
And many a buffet our kynge wan
Of Robyn Hode that day ;
And nothynge spared good Robyn
Our kynge in his pay.
So god me helpe, sayd our kynge,Thy game is nought to lere,I sholde not get a shote of the,Though I shote all this yere.{76}
So god me helpe, sayd our kynge,
Thy game is nought to lere,
I sholde not get a shote of the,
Though I shote all this yere.{76}
All the people of NotynghamThey stode and behelde,They sawe nothynge but mantels of greneThat covered all the felde ;
All the people of Notyngham
They stode and behelde,
They sawe nothynge but mantels of grene
That covered all the felde ;
Than every man to other gan say,I drede our kynge be slone ;Come Robyn Hode to the towne, I wys,On lyve he leveth not one.208
Than every man to other gan say,
I drede our kynge be slone ;
Come Robyn Hode to the towne, I wys,
On lyve he leveth not one.208
Full hastly they began to fle,Both yemen and knaves,And olde wyves that myght evyll goo,They hypped on theyr staves.
Full hastly they began to fle,
Both yemen and knaves,
And olde wyves that myght evyll goo,
They hypped on theyr staves.
The kynge loughe209full fast,And commanded theym agayne ;When they se our comly kynge,I wys they were full fayne.
The kynge loughe209full fast,
And commanded theym agayne ;
When they se our comly kynge,
I wys they were full fayne.
They ete and dranke, and made them glad,And sange with notes hye.Than bespake our comly kyngeTo syr Rycharde at the Lee :
They ete and dranke, and made them glad,
And sange with notes hye.
Than bespake our comly kynge
To syr Rycharde at the Lee :
He gave hym there his londe agayne,A good man he bad hym be.Robyn thanked our comly kynge,And set hym on his kne.{77}
He gave hym there his londe agayne,
A good man he bad hym be.
Robyn thanked our comly kynge,
And set hym on his kne.{77}
Had Robyn dwelled in the kynges courteBut twelve monethes and thre,That he had spent an hondred pounde,And all his mennes fe.
Had Robyn dwelled in the kynges courte
But twelve monethes and thre,
That he had spent an hondred pounde,
And all his mennes fe.
In every place where Robyn came,Ever more he layde downe,Both for knyghtes and for squyres,To gete hym grete renowne.
In every place where Robyn came,
Ever more he layde downe,
Both for knyghtes and for squyres,
To gete hym grete renowne.
By than the yere was all agone,He had no man but twayne,Lytell Johan and good Scathelocke,Wyth hym all for to gone.
By than the yere was all agone,
He had no man but twayne,
Lytell Johan and good Scathelocke,
Wyth hym all for to gone.
Robyn sawe yonge men shote,Full fayre210upon a day,Alas ! than sayd good Robyn,My welthe is went away.
Robyn sawe yonge men shote,
Full fayre210upon a day,
Alas ! than sayd good Robyn,
My welthe is went away.
Somtyme I was an archere good,A styffe and eke a stronge,I was commytted211the best archere,That was in mery Englonde.
Somtyme I was an archere good,
A styffe and eke a stronge,
I was commytted211the best archere,
That was in mery Englonde.
Alas ! then sayd good Robyn,Alas and well a woo !Yf I dwele lenger with the kynge,Sorowe wyll me sloo.{78}
Alas ! then sayd good Robyn,
Alas and well a woo !
Yf I dwele lenger with the kynge,
Sorowe wyll me sloo.{78}
Forth than went Robyn Hode,Tyll he came to our kynge :“My lorde the kynge of Englonde,Graunte me myn askynge.
Forth than went Robyn Hode,
Tyll he came to our kynge :
“My lorde the kynge of Englonde,
Graunte me myn askynge.
I made a chapell in Bernysdale,That semely is to se,It is of Mary Magdalene,And thereto wolde I be ;
I made a chapell in Bernysdale,
That semely is to se,
It is of Mary Magdalene,
And thereto wolde I be ;
I myght never in this seven nyght,No tyme to slepe ne wynke,Nother all these seven dayes,Nother ete ne drynke.
I myght never in this seven nyght,
No tyme to slepe ne wynke,
Nother all these seven dayes,
Nother ete ne drynke.
Me longeth sore to Bernysdale,I may not be therfro,Barefote and wolwarde I have hyghtThyder for to go.”
Me longeth sore to Bernysdale,
I may not be therfro,
Barefote and wolwarde I have hyght
Thyder for to go.”
Yf it be so, than sayd our kynge,It may no better be ;Seven nyght I gyve the leve,No lengre, to dwell fro me.
Yf it be so, than sayd our kynge,
It may no better be ;
Seven nyght I gyve the leve,
No lengre, to dwell fro me.
Gramercy, lorde, then sayd Robyn,And set hym on his kne ;He toke his leve full courteysly,To grene wode then went he.{79}
Gramercy, lorde, then sayd Robyn,
And set hym on his kne ;
He toke his leve full courteysly,
To grene wode then went he.{79}
Whan he came to grene wode,In a mery mornynge,There he herde the notes smallOf byrdes mery syngynge.
Whan he came to grene wode,
In a mery mornynge,
There he herde the notes small
Of byrdes mery syngynge.
It is ferre gone, sayd Robyn,That I was last here,Me lyste a lytell for to shoteAt the donne dere.
It is ferre gone, sayd Robyn,
That I was last here,
Me lyste a lytell for to shote
At the donne dere.
Robyn slewe a full grete harte,His horne than gan he blow,That all the outlawes of that forèst,That horne coud they knowe,
Robyn slewe a full grete harte,
His horne than gan he blow,
That all the outlawes of that forèst,
That horne coud they knowe,
And gadred them togyder,In a lytell throwe,Seven score of wight yonge men,Came redy on a rowe ;
And gadred them togyder,
In a lytell throwe,
Seven score of wight yonge men,
Came redy on a rowe ;
And fayre dyde of theyr hodes,And set them on theyr kne :Welcome, they sayd, our maystèr,Under this grene wode tre.
And fayre dyde of theyr hodes,
And set them on theyr kne :
Welcome, they sayd, our maystèr,
Under this grene wode tre.
Robyn dwelled in grene wode,Twenty yere and two,For all drede of Edwarde our kyngeAgayne wolde he not goo.{80}
Robyn dwelled in grene wode,
Twenty yere and two,
For all drede of Edwarde our kynge
Agayne wolde he not goo.{80}
Yet he was begyled, I wys,Through a wycked womàn,The pryoresse of Kyrkesly,That nye was of his kynne,
Yet he was begyled, I wys,
Through a wycked womàn,
The pryoresse of Kyrkesly,
That nye was of his kynne,
For the love of a knyght,Syr Roger of Donkestèr,212That was her owne speciall,Full evyll mote they ‘fare.’213
For the love of a knyght,
Syr Roger of Donkestèr,212
That was her owne speciall,
Full evyll mote they ‘fare.’213
They toke togyder theyr counsellRobyn Hode for to sle,And how they myght best do that dede,His banis for to be.
They toke togyder theyr counsell
Robyn Hode for to sle,
And how they myght best do that dede,
His banis for to be.
Than bespake good Robyn,In place where as he stode,To morow I muste to Kyrkesley,Craftely to be leten blode.
Than bespake good Robyn,
In place where as he stode,
To morow I muste to Kyrkesley,
Craftely to be leten blode.
Sir Roger of Donkestere,By the pryoresse he lay,And there they betrayed good Robyn HodeThrough theyr false playe.
Sir Roger of Donkestere,
By the pryoresse he lay,
And there they betrayed good Robyn Hode
Through theyr false playe.
Cryst have mercy on his soule,That dyed on the rode !For he was a good outlawe,And dyde pore men moch god.
Cryst have mercy on his soule,
That dyed on the rode !
For he was a good outlawe,
And dyde pore men moch god.