Chapter III: Part 3

The porter swore a full grete othe,
"By god that made me,
Here be the best coresed hors, 75
That ever yet sawe I me.

"Lede them into the stable," he sayd,
"That eased might they be:"
"They shall not come therin," sayd the knyght,
"By god that dyed on a tre." 80

Lordes were to mete isette
In that abbotes hall;
The knyght went forth and kneled downe,
And salued them grete and small.

"Do gladly, syr abbot," sayd the knyght, 85
"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;" 90
"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, 95
"To pray of a lenger daye."

"Thy daye is broke," sayd the justyce,
"Londe getest thou none:"
"Now, good syr justyce, be my frende,
And fende me of my fone." 100

"I am holde with the abbot," sayd the justyce,[L101]
"Bothe with cloth and fee:"
"Now, good syr sheryf, be my frende:"
"Nay for god," sayd he.

"Now, good syr abbot, be my frende, 105
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, 110
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, 115
For thou getest none of me."

"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. 120

"God, that was of a mayden borne,
Lene us well to spede![L122]
For it is good to assay a frende
Or that a man have nede."

The abbot lothely on him gan loke, 125
And vylaynesly hym gan call;[L126]
"Out," he sayd, "thou false knyght,
Spede the out of my hall!"

"Thou lyest," then sayd the gentyll knyght,
"Abbot in thy hal; 130
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 135
Thou canst no curteysye.

"In joustes and in tournement
Full ferre than have I be,
And put myselfe as ferre in prees
As ony that ever I se." 140

"What wyll ye gyve more," said the justyce,
"And the knyght shall make a releyse?
And elles dare I safly swere
Ye holde never your londe in pees."

"An hondred pounde," sayd the abbot; 145
The justyce said, "Gyve him two;"
"Nay, be god," said the knyght,
"Yet gete ye it not soo.[L148]

"Though ye wolde gyve a thousande more,
Yet were ye never the nere;[L150] 150
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 bagge 155
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." 160

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, 165
"Syr justyce, that I toke the;"
"Not a peny," sayd the justyce,
"By god, that dyed on a tree."

"Syr abbot, and ye men of lawe,
Now have I holde my daye, 170
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, 175
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 Uterysdale.[L180] 180

"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; 185
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, 190
The good yeman lent it me,
As I came by the way."

This knyght than dwelled fayre at home,
The soth for to say,
Tyll he had got foure hondreth pounde, 195
All redy for too paye.

He purveyed hym an hondred bowes,
The strenges welle [y-]dyght,
An hondred shefe of arowes good,
The hedes burnyshed full bryght. 200

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, 205
Well harneysed in that stede,
And hymselfe in that same sete,[L207]
And clothed in whyte and rede.

He bare a launsgay in his honde,
And a man ledde his male, 210
And reden with a lyght songe
Unto Bernysdale.

As he went at brydge ther was a wrastelyng,
And there taryed was he,
And there was all the best yemèn, 215
Of all the west countree.

A full fayre game there was upset;
A whyte bull up ipyght,[L218]
A grete courser with sadle and brydil,
With golde burneyshed full bryght; 220

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, 225
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, 230
He said that yoman sholde have no harme,
For love of Robyn Hode.

The knyght presed into the place,
An hondred folowed hym fre,[L234]
With bowes bent, and arowes sharpe, 235
For to shende that company.

They sholdred all, and made hym rome,
To wete what he wolde say;
He toke the yeman by the honde,
And gave hym all the playe. 240

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, 245
Tyll that playe was done,
So longe abode Robyn fastynge,
Thre houres after the none.

1, Ritson, this way.

2, hym, _sic_ Ch. & M.

25. The prior, in an abbey, was the officer immediately under the
abbot; in priories and conventual cathedrals he was the
superior.--RITSON.

101, 2. I.e., the Chief Justice had been retained for the abbot by
robe and fee. A writer in _Notes and Queries_, (vol. vi. p. 479,)
quotes statutes of Edward I. and Edward III. against maintenance, in
which the abuse of robes and fees is mentioned, and cites the
following clause from the oath required to be taken by justices:
"And that ye will take no _fee_ so long as ye shall be justices, nor
_robes_, of any man great or small, except of the king himself."

122, leue, W. Lende us, C.

126, loke (for call), W. C.

148, grete, W. get, C.

150, thou. PCC.

180. This is a place unknown. There is a forest in Lancashire,
observes Ritson, of the name of Wierysdale, but it appears
subsequently that the knight's castle was in Nottinghamshire.

207, sute, C.

218, I up pyght, W. up ypyght, C.

234, fere, W. in fere, C.

THE THYRDE FYTTE.

Lyth and lysten, gentyll men,
All that now be here,
Of Lytell Johan, that was the knyghtes man,
Good myrthe ye shall here.

It was upon a mery day, 5
That yonge men wolde go shete,[L6]
Lytell Johan fet his bowe anone,
And sayd he wolde them mete.

Thre tymes Lytell Johan shot about,
And always cleft the wande;[L10] 10
The proude sheryf of Notyngham
By the markes gan stande.

The sheryf swore a full grete othe,
By hym that dyed on a tre,
This man is the best archere 15
That yet sawe I me.

"Say me now, wyght yonge man,
What is now thy name?
In what countre were thou born,[L19]
And where is thy wonnynge wane?"[L20] 20

"In Holdernesse I was bore,
I-wys all of my dame;
Men call me Reynolde Grenelefe,
Whan I am at hame."

"Say me, Reynaud Grenelefe, 25
Wolte thou dwell with me?
And every yere I wyll the gyve
Twenty marke to thy fee."

"I have a mayster," sayd Lytell Johan,
"A curteys knight is he; 30
May ye gete leve of hym,
The better may it bee."

The sheryfe gate Lytell Johan
Twelve monethes of the knyght;
Therfore he gave him ryght anone 35
A good hors and a wyght.

Now is Lytel Johan the sheryffes man,
God gyve us well to spede,
But alway thought Lytell Johan
To quyte hym well his mede. 40

"Now so god me helpe," sayd Lytel Johan,[L41]
"And be my trewe lewtè,
I shall be the worste servaunte to hym
That ever yet had he."

It befell upon a Wednesday, 45
The sheryfe on hontynge was gone,
And Lytel Johan lay in his bed,
And was foryete at home.

Therfore he was fastynge
Tyl it was past the none; 50
"Good syr stuard, I pray the,
Geve me to dyne," sayd Lytel Johan.

"It is to long for Grenelefe,
Fastynge so long to be;
Therfore I pray the, stuarde, 55
My dyner gyve thou me."

"Shalt thou never ete ne drynke," said the stuarde,
"Tyll my lord be come to towne;"
"I make myn avowe to god," sayd Lytell Johan,
"I had lever to cracke thy crowne." 60

The butler was full uncurteys,
There he stode on flore;
He sterte to the buttery,
And shet fast the dore.

Lytell Johan gave the buteler such a rap, 65
His backe yede nygh on two;
Tho he lyved an hundreth wynter,
The wors he sholde go.

He sporned the dore with his fote,
It went up wel and fyne,[L70] 70
And there he made a large lyveray
Both of ale and wyne.

"Syth ye wyl not dyne," sayd Lytel Johan,
"I shall gyve you to drynke,
And though ye lyve an hondred wynter, 75
On Lytell Johan ye shall thynk."

Lytell Johan ete, and Lytell [Johan] dronke,
The whyle that he wolde;
The sheryfe had in hys kechyn a coke,
A stoute man and a bolde. 80

"I make myn avowe to god," sayd the coke,
"Thou arte a shrewde hynde,
In an householde to dwel,
For to ask thus to dyne."

And there he lent Lytel Johan 85
Good strokes thre;
"I make myn avowe," said Lytell Johan,
"These strokes lyketh well me.

"Thou arte a bolde man and an hardy
And so thynketh me; 90
And or I passe fro this place,
Asayed better shalt thou be."

Lytell Johan drewe a good swerde,
The coke toke another in honde;
They thought nothynge for to fle, 95
But styfly for to stonde.

There they fought sore togyder,
Two myle way and more;
Myght neyther other harme done,
The mountenaunce of an houre. 100

"I make myn avowe to god," sayd Lytell Johan,
"And be my trewe lewtè,
Thou art one of the best swerdemen,
That ever yet sawe I me.

"Coowdest thou shote as well in a bowe, 105
To grene wood thou sholdest with me,
And two tymes in the yere thy clothynge
Ichaunged sholde be;

"And every yere of Robyn Hode
Twenty marke to thy fee:" 110
"Put up thy swerde," sayd the coke,
"And felowes wyll we be."

Then he fette to Lytell Johan
The numbles of a doo,
Good brede and full good wyne; 115
They ete and dranke therto.

And whan they had dronken well,
Ther trouthes togyder they plyght,
That they wolde be with Robyn
That ylke same day at nyght. 120

They dyde them to the tresure-hous,[L121]
As fast as they myght gone;
The lockes, that were of good stele,
They brake them everychone.

They toke away the sylver vessell, 125
And all that they myght get,
Peces, masars, and spones
Wolde they non forgete.

Also they toke the good pence,
Thre hondred pounde and three, 130
And dyde them strayt to Robyn Hode,
Under the grene wode tre.

"God the save, my dere maystèr,
And Cryst the save and se;"
And than sayd Robyn to Lytell Johan, 135
"Welcome myght thou be;

"And also be that fayre yemàn
Thou bryngest there with the.
What tydynges fro Notyngham?
Lytell Johan, tell thou me." 140

"Well the greteth the proude sheryfe,
And sende the here by me
His coke and his sylver vessell,
And thre hondred pounde and thre."

"I make myn avow to god," sayd Robyn, 145
"And to the trenytè,
It was never by his good wyll
This good is come to me."

Lytell Johan hym there bethought
On a shrewed wyle;[L150] 150
Fyve myle in the forest he ran,
Hym happed at his wyll.

Than he met the proud sheryf,
Huntynge with hounde and horne;
Lytell Johan coud his curteysye, 155
And kneled hym beforne.

"God the save, my dere maystèr,
And Cryst the save and se;"
"Raynolde Grenelefe," sayd the sheryfe,
"Where hast thou nowe be?" 160

"I have be in this forest,
A fayre syght can I se;
It was one of the fayrest syghtes[L163]
That ever yet sawe I me.

"Yonder I se a ryght fayre hart, 165
His coloure is of grene;
Seven score of dere upon an herde
Be with hym all bedene.

"His tynde are so sharp, maystèr,
Of sexty and well mo, 170
That I durst not shote for drede
Lest they wolde me sloo."

"I make myn avowe to god," sayd the sheryf,
"That syght wolde I fayn se;"
"Buske you thyderwarde, my dere maystèr, 175
Anone, and wende with me."

The sheryfe rode, and Lytell Johan
Of fote he was full smarte;
And when they came afore Robyn,
"Lo, here is the mayster harte!" 180

Styll stode the proud sheryf,
A sory man was he:
"Wo worthe the, Raynolde Grenelefe![L183]
Thou hast now betrayed me."

"I make myn avowe to god," sayd Lytell Johan, 185
"Mayster, ye be to blame,
I was mysserved of my dynere,
When I was with you at hame."

Soone he was to super sette,
And served with sylver whyte; 190
And whan the sheryf se his vessell,
For sorowe he myght not ete.

"Make good chere," sayd Robyn Hode,
"Sheryfe, for charytè,
And for the love of Lytell Johan, 195
Thy lyfe is graunted to the."

When they had supped well,
The day was all agone,
Robyn commaunded Lytell Johan
To drawe of his hosen and his shone, 200

His kyrtell and his cote-a-pye,
That was furred well fyne,
And take him a grene mantèll,
To lappe his body therin.

Robyn commaunded his wyght young men, 205
Under the grene wood tre,
They shall lay in that same sorte,
That the sheryf myght them se.

All nyght laye that proud sheryf
In his breche and in his sherte; 210
No wonder--it was in grene wode,--
Tho his sydes do smerte.

"Make glad chere," sayd Robyn Hode,
"Sheryfe, for charytè,
For this is our order i-wys, 215
Under the grene wood tre."

"This is harder order," sayd the sheryfe,
"Than ony anker or frere;
For al the golde in mery Englonde,
I wolde not longe dwell here." 220

"All these twelve monethes," sayd Robyn,
"Thou shalte dwell with me;
I shall the teche, proud sheryfe,
An outlawe for to be."

"Or I here another nyght lye," sayd the sheryfe, 225
"Robyn, nowe I pray the,
Smyte of my hede rather to-morne,
And I forgyve it the.

"Lete me go," then sayd the sheryf,
"For saynt Charytè, 230
And I wyll be the best frende
That ever yet had ye."[L232]

"Thou shalte swere me an othe," sayd Robyn,
"On my bryght bronde,
Thou shalt never awayte me scathe, 235
By water ne by londe;

"And if thou fynde ony of my men,
By nyght or by day,
Upon thyne othe thou shalt swere
To helpe them that thou may." 240

Now hathe the sheryf iswore his othe,[L241]
And home he began to gone;
He was as full of grene wode
As ever was hepe of stone.

6, shote, W.

10, he sleste, W.

19, thou wast, C. wast thou, Wh.

20, wane, Ch. & M. wan, R.

41. He, Ritson. Ge. W. f. God.

70, Ch. & M. open.

121, hyed, C.

150, whyle, W.

163, syght, W. sightes, C.

183, wo the worth, W.

232, ye, Ch. & M. the, R.

241, have, R. hathe, Ch. & M.

THE FOURTH FYTTE.

The sheryf dwelled in Notynghame,
He was fayne that he was gone,
And Robyn and his mery men
Went to wode anone.

"Go we to dyner," sayd Lytell Johan; 5
Robyn Hode sayd, "Nay;
For I drede our lady be wroth with me,
For she sent me not my pay."

"Have no dout, mayster," sayd Lytell Johan,
"Yet is not the sonne at rest; 10
For I dare saye, and saufly swere,
The knyght is trewe and trust."

"Take thy bowe in thy hande," sayd Robyn,
"Let Moche wende with the,
And so shall Wyllyam Scathelock, 15
And no man abyde with me.

"And walk up into the Sayles,
And to Watlynge-strete,
And wayte after some unketh gest;[L19]
Up-chaunce ye may them mete. 20

"Whether he be messengere,
Or a man that myrthes can,
Or yf he be a pore man,
Of my good he shall have some."

Forth then stert Lytel Johan, 25
Half in tray and tene,
And gyrde hym with a full good swerde,
Under a mantel of grene.

They went up to the Sayles,
These yemen all thre; 30
They loked est, they loked west,
They myght no man se.

But as he loked in Bernysdale,
By the hye waye,
Than were they ware of two blacke monkes, 35
Eche on a good palferay.

Then bespake Lytell Johan,
To Much he gan say,
"I dare lay my lyfe to wedde,
That these monkes have brought our pay. 40

"Make glad chere," sayd Lytell Johan,
"And frese our bowes of ewe,
And loke your hertes be seker and sad,
Your strynges trusty and trewe.

"The monke hath fifty two men, 45
And seven somers full stronge;
There rydeth no bysshop in this londe
So ryally, I understond.

"Brethern," sayd Lytell Johan,
"Here are no more but we thre; 50
But we brynge them to dyner,
Our mayster dare we not se.

"Bende your bowes," sayd Lytell Johan,
"Make all yon prese to stonde;[L54]
The formost monke, his lyfe and his deth 55
Is closed in my honde.

"Abyde, chorle monke," sayd Lytell Johan,
"No ferther that thou gone;
Yf thou doost, by dere worthy god,
Thy deth is in my honde. 60

"And evyll thryfte on thy hede," sayd Lytell Johan,
"Ryght under thy hattes bonde,
For thou hast made our mayster wroth,
He is fastynge so longe."

"Who is your mayster?" sayd the monke; 65
Lytell Johan sayd "Robyn Hode;"
"He is a stronge thefe," sayd the monke,
"Of hym herd I never good."

"Thou lyest," than sayd Lytell Johan,
"And that shall rewe the; 70
He is a yeman of the forèst,
To dyne he hath bode the."

Much was redy with a bolte,
Redly and anone,
He set the monke to fore the brest, 75
To the grounde that he can gone.

Of fyfty two wyght yonge men[L77]
There abode not one,
Saf a lytell page, and a grome,
To lede the somers with Johan.[L80] 80

They brought the monke to the lodge dore,
Whether he were loth or lefe,
For to speke with Robyn Hode,
Maugre in theyr tethe.

Robyn dyde adowne his hode, 85
The monke whan that he se;
The monke was not so curteyse,
His hode then let he be.

"He is a chorle, mayster, by dere worthy god,"
Than said Lytell Johan: 90
"Thereof no force," sayd Robyn,
"For curteysy can he none.

"How many men," sayd Robyn,
"Had this monke, Johan?"
"Fifty and two whan that we met, 95
But many of them be gone."

"Let blowe a horne," sayd Robyn,
"That felaushyp may us knowe;"
Seven score of wyght yemen,
Came pryckynge on a rowe. 100

And everych of them a good mantell
Of scarlet and of raye;
All they came to good Robyn,
To wyte what he wolde say.

They made the monke to washe and wype, 105
And syt at his denere,
Robyn Hode and Lytel Johan
They served him bothe in fere.[L108]

"Do gladly, monke," sayd Robyn.
"Gramercy, syr," said he. 110
"Where is your abbay, whan ye are at home,
And who is your avowè?"

"Saynt Mary abbay," sayd the monke,
"Though I be symple here."
"In what offyce?" sayd Robyn: 115
"Syr, the hye selerer."

"Ye be the more welcome," sayd Robyn,
"So ever mote I the:
Fyll of the best wyne," sayd Robyn,
"This monke shall drynke to me. 120

"But I have grete mervayle," sayd Robyn,
"Of all this longe day;
I drede our lady be wroth with me,
She sent me not my pay."

"Have no doute, mayster," sayd Lytell Johan, 125
"Ye have no nede I saye;
This monke it hath brought, I dare well swere,
For he is of her abbay."

"And she was a borowe," sayd Robyn,
"Betwene a knyght and me, 130
Of a lytell money that I hym lent,
Under the grene wode tree.

"And yf thou hast that sylver ibroughte,
I pray the let me se;
And I shall helpe the eftsones, 135
Yf thou have nede of me."[L136]

The monke swore a full grete othe,
With a sory chere,
"Of the borowehode thou spekest to me,
Herde I never ere." 140

"I make myn avowe to god," sayd Robyn,
"Monke, thou art to blame;
For god is holde a ryghtwys man,
And so is his dame.

"Thou toldest with thyn owne tonge, 145
Thou may not say nay,
How thou arte her servaunt,
And servest her every day.

"And thou art made her messengere,[L149]
My money for to pay; 150
Therefore I can the more thanke,
Thou arte come at thy day.

"What is in your cofers?" sayd Robyn,
"Trewe than tell thou me:"
"Syr," he sayd, "twenty marke, 155
Al so mote I the."

"Yf there be no more," sayd Robyn,
"I wyll not one peny;
Yf thou hast myster of ony more,
Syr, more I shall lende to the; 160

"And yf I fynde more," sayd Robyn,
"I-wys thou shalte it forgone;
For of thy spendynge sylver, monk,
Thereof wyll I ryght none.

"Go nowe forthe, Lytell Johan, 165
And the trouth tell thou me;
If there be no more but twenty marke,
No peny that I se."

Lytell Johan spred his mantell downe,
As he had done before, 170
And he tolde out of the monkes male
Eyght hundreth pounde and more.[L172]

Lytell Johan let it lye full styll,
And went to his mayster in hast;
"Syr," he sayd, "the monke is trewe ynowe, 175
Our lady hath doubled your cost."

"I make myn avowe to god," sayd Robyn,
"Monke, what tolde I the?
Our lady is the trewest womàn
That ever yet founde I me. 180

"By dere worthy god," said Robyn,
"To seche all England thorowe,
Yet founde I never to my pay
A moche better borowe.

"Fyll of the best wyne, do hym drynke," said Robyn, 185
"And grete well thy lady hende,
And yf she have nede of Robyn Hode,[L187]
A frende she shall hym fynde.

"And yf she nedeth ony more sylvèr,
Come thou agayne to me, 190
And, by this token she hath me sent,
She shall have such thre."

The monke was going to London ward,
There to holde grete mote,
The knyght that rode so hye on hors, 195
To brynge hym under fote.

"Whether be ye away?" sayd Robyn.
"Syr, to maners in this londe,
Too reken with our reves,
That have done moch wronge." 200

"Come now forth, Lytell Johan,
And harken to my tale;
A better yemen I knowe none,
To seke a monkes male."

"How much is in yonder other cofer?" said Robyn,[L205] 205
"The soth must we see:"
"By our lady," than sayd the monke,
"That were no curteysye,

"To bydde a man to dyner,
And syth hym bete and bynde." 210
"It is our olde maner," sayd Robyn,
"To leve but lytell behynde."

The monke toke the hors with spore,
No lenger wolde he abyde:
"Aske to drynke," than sayd Robyn, 215
"Or that ye forther ryde."

"Nay, for god," than sayd the monke,
"Me reweth I cam so nere;
For better chepe I myght have dyned
In Blythe or in Dankestere." 220

"Grete well your abbot," sayd Robyn,
"And your pryour, I you pray,
And byd hym send me such a monke
To dyner every day."

Now lete we that monke be styll, 225
And speke we of that knyght:
Yet he came to holde his day,
Whyle that it was lyght.

He dyde him streyt to Bernysdale,
Under the grene wode tre, 230
And he founde there Robyn Hode,
And all his mery meynè.

The knyght lyght downe of his good palfrày;
Robyn whan he gan see,
So curteysly he dyde adoune his hode, 235
And set hym on his knee.

"God the save, good Robyn Hode,
And al this company:"
"Welcome be thou, gentyll knyght,
And ryght welcome to me." 240

Than bespake hym Robyn Hode,
To that knyght so fre,
"What nede dryveth the to grene wode?
I pray the, syr knyght, tell me.

"And welcome be thou, gentyl knyght, 245
Why hast thou be so longe?"
"For the abbot and the hye justyce
Wolde have had my londe."

"Hast thou thy londe agayne?" sayd Robyn;[L249]
"Treuth than tell thou me." 250
"Ye, for god," sayd the knyght,
"And that thanke I god and the.

"But take not a grefe, I have be so longe;[L253]
I came by a wrastelynge,
And there I dyd holpe a pore yemàn, 255
With wronge was put behynde."

"Nay, for god," sayd Robyn,
"Syr knyght, that thanke I the;
What man that helpeth a good yemàn,
His frende than wyll I be." 260

"Have here foure hondred pounde," than sayd the knyght,
"The whiche ye lent to me;
And here is also twenty marke
For your curteysy."

"Nay, for god," than sayd Robyn, 265
"Thou broke it well for ay;
For our lady, by her selerer,
Hath sent to me my pay.

"And yf I toke it twyse,[L269]
A shame it were to me: 270
But trewely, gentyll knyght,
Welcom arte thou to me."

Whan Robyn had tolde his tale,
He leugh and had good chere:
"By my trouthe," then sayd the knyght. 275
"Your money is redy here."

"Broke it well," sayd Robyn,
"Thou gentyll knyght so fre;
And welcome be thou, gentill knyght,
Under my trystell tree.[L280] 280

"But what shall these bowes do?" sayd Robyn,
"And these arowes ifedered fre?"
"By god," than sayd the knyght,
"A pore present to the."

"Come now forth, Lytell Johan, 285
And go to my treasurè,
And brynge me there foure hondred pounde,
The monke over-tolde it me.

"Have here foure hondred pounde,
Thou gentyll knyght and trewe, 290
And bye hors and harnes good,
And gylte thy spores all newe.

"And yf thou fayle ony spendynge,
Com to Robyn Hode,
And by my trouth thou shalt none fayle, 295
The whyles I have any good.

"And broke well thy four hundred pound,
Whiche I lent to the,
And make thy selfe no more so bare,
By the counsell of me." 300

Thus than holpe hym good Robyn,
The knyght all of his care:[L302]
God, that sytteth in heven hye,[L303]
Graunte us well to fare.

19, such, W.

54, you, W. Make you yonder preste, C.

77, yemen, C.

80, Lytell Johan. O. CC.

108, them bothe, O. CC.

136, to, W.

149, nade, W. not in C.

172. Eyght pounde, W.

187, to, W.

205, corser, W. courser, C.

249, gayne, W.

253. But take not a grefe, sayd the knyght,
That I have be so longe. O. CC.

269. I twyse, W.

280, thi trusty, C.

THE FYFTH FYTTE.

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, gentilmen, 5
And herken what I shall say,
How the proud sheryfe of Notyngham
Dyde crye a full fayre play;

That all the best archers of the north
Sholde come upon a daye, 10
And he that shoteth altherbest[L11]
The game shall bere away.

He that shoteth altherbest[L13]
Furthest fayre and lowe,
At a payre of fynly buttes, 15
Under the grene wode shawe,

A ryght good arowe he shall have,
The shaft of sylver whyte,
The heade and the feders of ryche rede golde,
In Englond is none lyke. 20

This then herde good Robyn,
Under his trystell tre:
"Make you redy, ye wyght yonge men;
That shotynge wyll I se.

"Buske you, my mery yonge men, 25
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, 30
Seven score of wyght yonge men
Stode by Robyns kne.

"Whan they cam to Notyngham,
The buttes were fayre and longe;
Many was the bolde archere 35
That shoted with bowes stronge.

"There shall but syx shote with me;
The other shal kepe my hede.
And stande with good bowes bent,
That I be not desceyved." 40

The fourth outlawe his bowe gan bende,
And that was Robyn Hode,
And that behelde the proude sheryfe,
All by the but he stode.

Thryes Robyn shot about, 45
And alway he slist the wand,[L46]
And so dyde good Gylberte
With the whyte hande.

Lytell Johan and good Scatheloke
Were archers good and fre; 50
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, 55
Forsoth, Robyn Hode.

Hym was delyvered the goode aròw,
For best worthy was he;
He toke the yeft so curteysly,
To grene wode wolde he. 60

They cryed out on Robyn Hode,
And great hornes gan they blowe:
"Wo worth the, treason!" sayd Robyn,
"Full evyl thou art to knowe.

"And wo be thou, thou proud sheryf, 65
Thus gladdynge thy gest;
Other wyse thou behote me
In yonder wylde forest.

"But had I the in grene wode,
Under my trystell tre, 70
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, 75
And hurt many a syde.

The outlaws shot was so stronge,
That no man myght them dryve,
And the proud sheryfes men
They fled away full blyve.[L80] 80

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, 85
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, 90
And for that ylke lordes love,
That dyed upon a tre,

"And for the medes of my servyce,
That I have served the,
Lete never the proude sheryf 95
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."[L100] 100

"I wolde not that," sayd Robyn,
"Johan, that thou were slawe,
For all the golde in mery Englond,
Though it lay now on a rawe."

"God forbede," sayd lytell Much, 105
"That dyed on a tre,
That thou sholdest, Lytell Johan,
Parte our company."

Up he toke him on his backe,
And bare hym well a myle; 110
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, 115
And walled, by the rode.

And there dwelled that gentyll knyght,
Syr Richard at the Lee,
That Robyn had lent his good,
Under the grene wode tree. 120

In he toke good Robyn,
And all his company;
"Welcome be thou, Robyn Hode,
Welcome arte thou me;

"And moche [I] thanke the of thy comfort, 125
And of thy curteysye,
And of thy grete kyndenesse,
Under the grene wode tre.

"I love no man in all this worlde
So much as I do the; 130
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, 135
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." 140

Bordes were layed, and clothes spred,
Reddely and anone;
Robyn Hode and his mery men
To mete gan they gone.

302, this care, W.

303, syt, W.

11. And that shoteth al ther best, W. And they that shote al of the
best, C.

13, al theyre, W. al of the, C.

46, they slist, W. he clefte, C.

80, belyve, C.

100. That I after eate no bread, C.

THE SYXTE FYTTE.

Lythe and lysten, gentylmen,
And herken unto your songe,
How the proude sheryfe of Notyngham,
And men of armes stronge,

Full faste came to the hye sheryfe, 5
The countre up to rout,
And they beset the knyghts castèll,
The walles all about.

The proude sheryfe loude gan crye,
And sayd, "Thou traytour knyght, 10
Thou kepeste here the kynges enemye,
Agayne the lawes and ryght."

"Syr, I wyll avowe that I have done,
The dedes that here be dyght,[L14]
Upon all the londes that I have, 15
As I am a trewe knyght.

"Wende forthe, syrs, on your waye,
And doth do more to me,
Tyll ye wytte our kynges wyll,
What he woll say to the." 20

The sheref thus had his answere,
With out ony leasynge;
Forthe he yode to London toune,
All for to tel our kynge.

There he tolde hym of that knyght, 25
And eke of Robyn Hode,
And also of the bolde archeres,
That noble were and good.

"He wolde avowe that he had done,
To mayntayne the outlawes stronge, 30
He wolde be lorde, and set you at nought,
In all the north londe."

"I woll be at Notyngham," sayd the kynge,
"Within this fourtynyght,
And take I wyll Robyn Hode, 35
And so I wyll that knyght.

"Go home, thou proud sheryf,
And do as I bydde the,[L38]
And ordayne good archeres inowe
Of all the wyde countree." 40

The sheryf had his leve itake,
And went hym on his way;
And Robyn Hode to grene wode [went]
Upon a certayn day.

And Lytell Johan was hole of the arowe, 45
That shote was in his kne,
And dyde hym strayte to Robyn Hode,
Under the grene wode tre.

Robyn Hode walked in the foreste,
Under the leves grene; 50
The proud sheryfe of Notyngham,
Therfore he had grete tene.

The sheryf there fayled of Robyn Hode,
He myght not have his pray;
Then he awayted that gentyll knyght, 55
Bothe by nyght and by daye.

Ever he awayted that gentyll knyght,
Syr Rychard at the Lee;
As he went on haukynge by the ryver syde
And let his haukes flee, 60

Toke he there this gentyll knyght,
With men of armes stronge,
And lad hym home to Notyngham warde,
Ibonde both fote and honde.[L64]

The sheryf swore a full grete othe, 65
By hym that dyed on rode,[L66]
He had lever than an hondrede pounde,
That he had Robyn Hode.

Then the lady, the knyghtes wyfe,
A fayre lady and fre, 70
She set her on a gode palfrày,
To grene wode anon rode she.

When she came to the forèst,
Under the grene wode tre,
Founde she there Robyn Hode, 75
And all his fayre meynè.

"God the save, good Robyn Hode,[L77]
And all thy company;
For our dere ladyes love,[L79]
A bone graunte thou me. 80

"Let thou never my wedded lorde[L81]
Shamfully slayne to be;[L82]
He is fast ibounde to Notyngham warde,
For the love of the."

Anone then sayd good Robyn, 85
To that lady fre,
"What man hath your lorde itake?"
"The proude shirife," than sayd she.[L88]

["The proude sheryfe hath hym itake]
Forsoth as I the say; 90
He is not yet thre myles
Passed on his waye."[L92]

Up then sterte good Robyn,
As a man that had be wode;
"Buske you, my mery young men, 95
For hym that dyed on a rode.

"And he that this sorowe forsaketh,
By hym that dyed on a tre,
And by him that al thinges maketh,[L99]
No lenger shall dwell with me."[L100] 100

Sone there were good bowes ibent,
Mo than seven score,
Hedge ne dyche spared they none,
That was them before.

"I make myn avowe to god," sayd Robyn, 105
"The sheryf wolde I fayn se,[L106]
And yf I may hym take,
Iquyt than shall he bee."[L108]

And whan they came to Notyngham,
They walked in the strete, 110
And with the proud sheryf, i-wys,
Sone gan they mete.

"Abyde, thou proud sheryf," he sayd,
"Abyde and speake with me,
Of some tydynges of our kynge, 115
I wolde fayne here of the.

"This seven yere, by dere worthy god,
Ne yede I so fast on fote;
I make myn avowe to god, thou proude sheryfe,
That is not for thy good."[L120] 120

Robyn bent a good bowe,
An arrowe he drewe at his wyll,
He hyt so the proud sheryf,
Upon the ground he lay full styll.

And or he myght up aryse, 125
On his fete to stonde,
He smote of the sheryves hede,
With his bryght bronde.

"Lye thou there, thou proude sheryf,
Evyll mote thou thryve; 130
There myght no man to the trust,
The whyles thou were alyve."

His men drewe out theyr bryght swerdes,
That were so sharpe and kene,
And layde on the sheryves men, 135
And dryved them downe bydene.

Robyn stert to that knyght,
And cut a two his bonde,[L138]
And toke hym in his hand a bowe,
And bade hym by hym stonde. 140

"Leve thy hors the behynde,
And lerne for to renne;
Thou shalt with me to grene wode,
Through myre, mosse, and fenne.

"Thou shalt with me to grene wode, 145
Without ony leasynge,
Tyll that I have gete us grace
Of Edwarde, our comly kynge."

14, thou, W.

38, the bydde, OCC.

64, honde and fote, W. foote and hande, C.

66, on a tre, R. rode, Ch. & M.

77. God the good Robyn, W.

79, lady, W.

81. Late.

82. Shamly I slayne be, W.

88. Forsoth as I the say, W.

92, your waye, W. You may them over take, C.

99, 100. Shall he never in grene wode be,
Nor longer dwell with me. W.

106, sherif, Ch. & M. knyght, R.

108, it, W.

120. At, W. That, C. boote for good, Wh.

138, hoode, W. bande, C.

THE SEVENTH FYTTE.

The kynge came to Notynghame,
With knyghtes in grete araye,
For to take that gentyll knyght
And Robyn Hode, yf he may.[L4]

He asked men of that countrè, 5
After Robyn Hode,
And after that gentyll knyght,
That was so bolde and stout.

Whan they had tolde hym the case
Our kynge understonde ther tale, 10
And seased in his honde
The knyghtes londes all.

All the passe of Lancasshyre
He went both ferre and nere;
Tyll he came to Plomton parke,[L15] 15
He faylyd many of his dere.

There our kynge was wont to se
Herdes many one,
He coud unneth fynde one dere,
That bare ony good horne. 20

The kynge was wonder wroth withall,
And swore by the trynytè,
"I wolde I had Robyn Hode,
With eyen I myght hym se.

"And he that wolde smyte of the knyghtes hede, 25
And brynge it to me,
He shall have the knyghtes londes,
Syr Rycharde at the Le.

"I gyve it hym with my chartèr,
And sele it with my honde, 30
To have and holde for ever-more,
In all mery Englonde."

Than bespake a fayre olde knyght,
That was treue in his fay,
"A, my lege lorde the kynge, 35
One worde I shall you say;

"There is no man in this countrè
May have the knyghtes londes,
Whyle Robyn Hode may ryde or gone,
And bere a bowe in his hondes, 40

"That he ne shall lese his hede,
That is the best ball in his hode:
Give it no man, my lorde the kynge,
That ye wyll any good."

Half a yere dwelled our comly kynge 45
In Notyngham, and well more;
Coude he not here of Robyn Hode,
In what countre that he were.

But alway went good Robyn
By halke and eke by hyll, 50
And alway slewe the kynges dere,
And welt them at his wyll.

Than bespake a proude fostere,
That stode by our kynges kne,
"If ye wyll se good Robyn, 55
Ye must do after me.

"Take fyve of the best knyghtes
That be in your lede,
And walk downe by yon abbay,[L59]
And gete you monkes wede. 60

"And I wyll be your ledes man,
And lede you the way,
And or ye come to Notyngham,
Myn hede then dare I lay,

"That ye shall mete with good Robyn, 65
On lyve yf that he be;
Or ye come to Notyngham,
With eyen ye shall hym se."

Full hastly our kynge was dyght,
So were his knyghtes fyve, 70
Everych of them in monkes wede,
And hasted them thyder blyve.[L72]

Our kynge was grete above his cole,
A brode hat on his crowne,
Ryght as he were abbot-lyke, 75
They rode up in-to the towne.

Styf botes our kynge had on,
Forsoth as I you say;
He rode syngynge to grene wode,
The covent was clothed in graye. 80

His male hors and his grete somèrs
Folowed our kynge behynde,
Tyll they came to grene wode,
A myle under the lynde.

There they met with good Robyn, 85
Stondynge on the waye,
And so dyde many a bolde archere,
For soth as I you say.

Robyn toke the kynges hors,
Hastely in that stede, 90
And sayd, "Syr abbot, by your leve,
A whyle ye must abyde.

"We be yemen of this foreste,
Under the grene wode tre;
We lyve by our kynges dere, 95
Other shyft have not we.[L96]

"And ye have chyrches and rentes both,
And gold full grete plentè;
Gyve us some of your spendynge,
For saynt Charytè." 100

Than bespake our cumly kynge,
Anone than sayd he,
"I brought no more to grene wode,
But forty pounde with me.

"I have layne at Notyngham, 105
This fourtynyght with our kynge,
And spent I have full moche good,
On many a grete lordynge.

"And I have but forty pounde,
No more than have I me; 110
But yf I had an hondred pounde,
I would geve it to the."[L112]

Robyn toke the forty pounde,
And departed it in two partye,
Halfendell he gave his mery men, 115
And bad them mery to be.

Full curteysly Robyn gan say,
"Syr, have this for your spendyng;
We shall mete another day."
"Gramercy," than sayd our kynge; 120

"But well the greteth Edwarde our kynge,
And sent to the his seale,
And byddeth the com to Notyngham,
Both to mete and mele."

He toke out the brode tarpe,[L125] 125
And sone he lete hym se;
Robyn coud his courteysy,
And set hym on his kne.

"I love no man in all the worlde
So well as I do my kynge. 130
Welcome is my lordes seale;
And, monke, for thy tydynge,

"Syr abbot, for thy tydynges,
To day thou shalt dyne with me,
For the love of my kynge, 135
Under my trystell tre."

Forth he lad our comly kynge,
Full fayre by the honde;
Many a dere there was slayne,
And full fast dyghtande. 140

Robyn toke a full grete horne,
And loude he gan blowe;
Seven score of wyght yonge men
Came redy on a rowe.

All they kneeled on theyr kne, 145
Full fayre before Robyn:
The kynge sayd hymselfe untyll,
And swore by saynt Austyn,

"Here is a wonder semely syght;
Me thynketh, by goddes pyne, 150
His men are more at his byddynge,
Then my men be at myn."

Full hastly was theyr dyner idyght,
And therto gan they gone;
They served our kynge with al theyr myght, 155
Both Robyn and Lytell Johan.

Anone before our kynge was set
The fatte venyson,
The good whyte brede, the good red wyne,
And therto the fyne ale browne.[L160] 160

"Make good chere," said Robyn,
"Abbot, for charytè;
And for this ylke tydynge,
Blyssed mote thou be.

"Now shalte thou se what life we lede, 165
Or thou hens wende;
Than thou may enfourme our kynge,
Whan ye togyder lende."

Up they sterte all in hast,
Theyr bowes were smartly bent; 170
Our kynge was never so sore agast,
He wende to have be shente.

Two yerdes there were up set,
There to gan they gange;
By fifty pase, our kynge sayd, 175
The merkes were to longe.

On every syde a rose garlonde,
They shot under the lyne:
"Who so fayleth of the rose garlonde," sayd Robyn,
"His takyll he shall tyne, 180

"And yelde it to his mayster,
Be it never so fyne;
For no man wyll I spare,
So drynke I ale or wyne;--

"And bere a buffet on his hede, 185
I-wys right all bare:"[L186]
And all that fell in Robyns lote,
He smote them wonder sare.

Twyse Robyn shot aboute,
And ever he cleved the wande, 190
And so dyde good Gylberte
With the Whyte Hand.[L192]

Lytell Johan and good Scathelocke,
For nothynge wolde they spare,
When they fayled of the garlonde, 195
Robyn smote them full sare.

At the last shot that Robyn shot,
For all his frendes fare,
Yet he fayled of the garlonde,
Thre fyngers and mare. 200

Than bespake good Gylberte,
And thus he gan say;
"Mayster," he sayd, "your takyll is lost,
Stand forth and take your pay."

"If it be so," sayd Robyn, 205
"That may no better be;
Syr abbot, I delyver the myn arowe,
I pray the, syr, serve thou me."

"It falleth not for myn order," sayd our kynge,
"Robyn, by thy leve, 210
For to smyte no good yemàn,
For doute I sholde hym greve."

"Smyte on boldely," sayd Robyn,
"I give the large leve:"
Anone our kynge, with that worde, 215
He folde up his sleve,

And sych a buffet he gave Robyn,
To grounde he yede full nere.
"I make myn avowe to god," sayd Robyn,
"Thou arte a stalworthe frere. 220

"There is pith in thyn arme," sayd Robyn,
"I trowe thou canst well shote;"
Thus our kynge and Robyn Hode
Togeder than they met.

Robyn behelde our comly kynge 225
Wystly in the face,
So dyde syr Richarde at the Le,
And kneled downe in that place;

And so dyde all the wylde outlawes,
Whan they se them knele: 230
"My lorde the kynge of Englonde,
Now I knowe you well.

"Mercy," then Robyn sayd to our kynge,
Under his trystyll tre,[L234]
"Of thy goodnesse and thy grace, 235
For my men and me!

"Yes, for god," sayd Robyn,
"And also god me save;
I aske mercy, my lorde the kynge,
And for my men I crave." 240

"Yes, for god," than sayd our kynge,
"Thy peticion I graunt the,
With that thou leve the grene wode,
And all thy company;

"And come home, syr, to my courte, 245
And there dwell with me."[L246]
"I make myn avowe to god," sayd Robyn,
"And ryght so shall it be.

"I wyll come to your courte,
Your servyse for to se, 250
And brynge with me of my men
Seven score and thre.

"But me lyke well your servyse,
I come agayne full soone,
And shote at the donne dere, 255
As I am wonte to done."

4, and yf, W.

15. Not in Cumberland, as Ritson states, but, says Hunter, a part of
the forest of Knaresborough, in Yorkshire.

59, your, OCC.

72, blyth, Ritson.

96. Under the grene wode tre, W.

112. I vouche it halfe on the, W.

125, seale, C.

160, and browne, W.

186. A wys, W. For that shall be his fyne, C.

192, good whyte, W. lilly white, C.

234. Your, Ritson.

246. And therto sent I me, W.

THE EIGHTH FYTTE.

"Haste thou ony grene cloth," sayd our kynge,
"That thou wylte sell now to me?"
"Ye, for god," sayd Robyn,
"Thyrty yerdes and thre."

"Robyn," sayd our kynge, 5
"Now pray I the,
To sell me some of that cloth,
To me and my meynè."

"Yes, for god," then sayd Robyn,[L9]
"Or elles I were a fole; 10
Another day ye wyll me clothe,[L11]
I trowe, ayenst the Yole."[L12]

The kynge kest of his cote then,
A grene garment he dyde on,
And every knyght did so, i-wys,[L15] 15
They clothed them full soone.[L16]

Whan they were clothed in Lyncolne grene,
They kest away theyr graye;
"Now we shall to Notyngham,"
All thus our kynge gan say. 20

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, 25
For soth as I you say,
And they shote plucke-buffet,
As they went by the way.

And many a buffet our kynge wan
Of Robyn Hode that day; 30
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, 35
Though I shote all this yere."

All the people of Notyngham
They stode and behelde;
They sawe nothynge but mantels of grene
That covered all the felde. 40

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."[L44]

Full hastly they began to fle, 45
Both yemen and knaves,
And olde wyves that myght evyll goo,
They hypped on theyr staves.

The kynge loughe full fast,[L49]
And commanded theym agayne; 50
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 kynge 55
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. 60

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 65
Evermore 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, 70
Lytell Johan and good Scathelocke,
Wyth hym all for to gone.

Robyn sawe yonge men shote,
Full fayre upon a day;[L74]
"Alas!" than sayd good Robyn,[L75] 75
"My welthe is went away.

"Somtyme I was an archere good,
A styffe and eke a stronge;
I was commytted the best archere
That was in mery Englonde. 80

"Alas!" then sayd good Robyn,
"Alas and well a woo!
Yf I dwele lenger with the kynge,
Sorowe wyll me sloo."

Forth than went Robyn Hode 85
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, 90
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 95
Nother ete ne drynke.

"Me longeth sore to Bernysdale,
I may not be therfro;
Barefote and wolwarde I have hyght
Thyder for to go." 100

"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, 105
And set hym on his kne;
He toke his leve full courteysly,
To grene wode then went he.

Whan he came to grene wode,
In a mery mornynge, 110
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 shote 115
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 120

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, 125
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; 130
For all drede of Edwarde our kynge,
Agayne wolde he not goo.