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117A: The Gest of Robyn Hode

 117A.1	 LYTHE and listin, gentilmen,
 	 That be of frebore blode;
 	 I shall you tel of a gode yeman,
 	 His name was Robyn Hode.
 117A.2	 Robyn was a prude outlaw,
 	 [Whyles he walked on grounde;
 	 So curteyse an outlawe] as he was one
 	 Was never non founde.
 117A.3	 Robyn stode in Bernesdale,
 	 And lenyd hym to a tre;
 	 And bi hym stode Litell Johnn,
 	 A gode yeman was he.
 117A.4	 And alsoo dyd gode Scarlok,
 	 And Much, the miller’s son;
 	 There was none ynch of his bodi
 	 But it was worth a grome.
 117A.5	 Than bespake Lytell Johnn
 	 All vntoo Robyn Hode:
 	 Maister, and ye wolde dyne betyme
 	 It wolde doo you moche gode.
 117A.6	 Than bespake hym gode Robyn:
 	 To dyne haue I noo lust,
 	 Till that I haue som bolde baron,
 	 Or som vnkouth gest.
 117A.7	 . . . . . . .
 	 That may pay for the best,
 	 Or som knyght or [som] squyer,
 	 That dwelleth here bi west.
 117A.8	 A gode maner than had Robyn;
 	 In londe where that he were,
 	 Euery day or he wold dyne
 	 Thre messis wolde he here.
 117A.9	 The one in the worship of the Fader,
 	 And another of the Holy Gost,
 	 The thirde of Our der  Lady,
 	 That he loued allther moste.
 117A.10	 Robyn loued Oure der  Lady;
 	 For dout of dydly synne,
 	 Wolde he neuer do compani harme
 	 That any woman was in.
 117A.11	 ‘Maistar,’ than sayde Lytil Johnn,
 	 ‘And we our borde shal sprede,
 	 Tell vs wheder that we shal go,
 	 And what life that we shall lede.
 117A.12	 ‘Where we shall take, where we shall leue,
 	 Where we shall abide behynde;
 	 Where we shall robbe, where we shal reue,
 	 Where we shal bete and bynde.’
 117A.13	 ‘Therof no force,’ than sayde Robyn;
 	 ‘We shall do well inowe;
 	 But loke ye do no husbonde harme,
 	 That tilleth with his ploughe.
 117A.14	 ‘No more ye shall no gode yeman
 	 That walketh by gren -wode shawe;
 	 Ne no knyght ne no squyer
 	 That wol be a gode felawe.
 117A.15	 ‘These bisshoppes and these archebishoppes,
 	 Ye shall them bete and bynde;
 	 The hy  sherif of Notyingham,
 	 Hym holde ye in your mynde.’
 117A.16	 ‘This worde shalbe holde,’ sayde Lytell Johnn,
 	 ‘And this lesson we shall lere;
 	 It is fer dayes ; God sende vs a gest,
 	 That we were at oure dynere!’
 117A.17	 ‘Take thy gode bowe in thy honde,’ sayde Rob[yn];
 	 ‘Late Much wende with the;
 	 And so shal Willyam Scarlo[k],
 	 And no man abyde with me.
 117A.18	 ‘And walke vp to the Saylis,
 	 And so to Watlingr Stret[e],
 	 And wayte after some vnkuth gest,
 	 Vp chaunce ye may them mete.
 117A.19	 ‘Be he erle, or ani baron,
 	 Abbot, or ani knyght,
 	 Bringhe hym to lodge to me;
 	 His dyner shall be dight.’
 117A.20	 They wente vp to the Saylis,
 	 These yeman all thre;
 	 They loked est, they loke[d] weest;
 	 They myght no man see.
 117A.21	 But as they loked in to Bernysdale,
 	 Bi a dern  strete,
 	 Than came a knyght ridinghe;
 	 Full sone they gan hym mete.
 117A.22	 All dreri was his semblaunce,
 	 And lytell was his pryde;
 	 His one fote in the styrop stode,
 	 That othere wauyd beside.
 117A.23	 His hode hanged in his iyn two;
 	 He rode in symple aray;
 	 A soriar man than he was one
 	 Rode neuer in somer day.
 117A.24	 Litell Johnn was full curteyes,
 	 And sette hym on his kne:
 	 ‘Welcom be ye, gentyll knyght,
 	 Welcom ar ye to me.
 117A.25	 ‘Welcom be thou to gren  wode,
 	 Hend  knyght and fre;
 	 My maister hath abiden you fastinge,
 	 Syr, al these our s thre.’
 117A.26	 ‘Who is thy maister?’ sayde the knyght;
 	 Johnn sayde, Robyn Hode;
 	 ‘He is [a] gode yoman,’ sayde the knyght,
 	 ‘Of hym haue I herde moche gode.
 117A.27	 ‘I graunte,’ he sayde, ’with you to wende,
 	 My bretherne, all in fere;
 	 My purpos was to haue dyned to day
 	 At Blith or Dancastere.’
 117A.28	 Furth than went this gentyl knight,
 	 With a carefull chere;
 	 The teris oute of his iyen ran,
 	 And fell downe by his lere.
 117A.29	 They  brought hym to the lodg -dore;
 	 Whan Robyn hym gan see,
 	 Full curtesly dyd of his hode
 	 And sette hym on his knee.
 117A.30	 ‘Welcome, sir knight,’ than sayde Robyn,
 	 ‘Welcome art thou to me;
 	 I haue abyden you fastinge, sir,
 	 All these ouris thre.’
 117A.31	 Than answered the gentyll knight,
 	 With word s fayre and fre;
 	 God the saue, goode Robyn,
 	 And all thy fayre meyn .
 117A.32	 They wasshed togeder and wyped bothe,
 	 And sette to theyr dynere;
 	 Brede and wyne they had right ynoughe,
 	 And noumbles of the dere.
 117A.33	 Swannes and fessauntes they had full gode,
 	 And foules of the ryuere;
 	 There fayled none so litell a birde
 	 That euer was bred on bryre.
 117A.34	 ‘Do gladly, sir knight,’ sayde Robyn;
 	 ‘Gramarcy, sir,’ sayde he;
 	 ‘Suche a dinere had I nat
 	 Of all these wekys thre.
 117A.35	 ‘If I come ageyne, Robyn,
 	 Here by thys contr ,
 	 As gode a dyner I shall the make
 	 As that thou haest made to me.’
 117A.36	 ‘Gramarcy, knyght,’ sayde Robyn;
 	 ‘My dyner whan that I it haue,
 	 I was neuer so gredy, bi dere worthy God,
 	 My dyner for to craue.
 117A.37	 ‘But pay or ye wende,’ sayde Robyn;
 	 ‘Me thynketh it is gode ryght;
 	 It was neuer the maner, by dere worthi God,
 	 A yoman to pay for a knyhht.’
 117A.38	 ‘I haue nought in my coffers,’ saide the knyght,
 	 ‘That I may profer for shame:’
 	 ‘Litell Johnn, go loke,’ sayde Robyn,
 	 ‘Ne let nat for no blame.
 117A.39	 ‘Tel me truth,’ than saide Robyn,
 	 ‘So God haue parte of the:’
 	 ‘I haue no more but ten shelynges,’ sayde the knyght,
 	 ‘So God haue parte of me.’
 117A.40	 If thou hast no more,’ sayde Robyn,
 	 ‘I woll nat one peny;
 	 And yf thou haue nede of any more,
 	 More shall I lend the.
 117A.41	 ‘Go nowe furth, Littell Johnn,
 	 The truth tell thou me;
 	 If there be no more but ten shelinges,
 	 No peny that I se.’
 117A.42	 Lyttell Johnn sprede downe hys mantell
 	 Full fayre vpon the grounde,
 	 And there he fonde in the knyght s cofer
 	 But euen halfe [a] pounde.
 117A.43	 Littell Johnn let it lye full styll,
 	 And went to hys maysteer [full] lowe;
 	 ‘What tidyng s, Johnn?’ sayde Robyn;
 	 ‘Sir, the knyght is true inowe.’
 117A.44	 ‘Fyll of the best wine,’ sayde Robyn,
 	 ‘The knyght shall begynne;
 	 Moche wonder thinketh me
 	 Thy clot[h]ynge is so thin[n]e.
 117A.45	 ‘Tell me [one] worde,’ sayde Robyn,
 	 ‘And counsel shal it be;
 	 I trowe thou warte made a knyght of force,
 	 Or ellys of yemanry.
 117A.46	 ‘Or ellys thou hast bene a sori husbande,
 	 And lyued in stroke and stryfe;
 	 An okerer, or ellis a lechoure,’ sayde Robyn,
 	 ‘Wyth wronge hast led thy lyfe.’
 117A.47	 ‘I am none of those,’ sayde the knyght,
 	 ‘By God that mad  me;
 	 An hundred wynter here before
 	 Myn auncetres knyghtes haue be.
 117A.48	 ‘But oft it hath befal, Robyn,
 	 A man hath be disgrate;
 	 But God that sitteth in heuen aboue
 	 May amende his state.
 117A.49	 ‘Withyn this two yere, Robyne,’ he sayde,
 	 ‘My neghbours well it knowe,
 	 Foure hundred pounde of gode money
 	 Ful well than myght I spende.
 117A.50	 ‘Nowe haue I no gode,’ saide the knyght,
 	 ‘God hath shaped such an ende,
 	 But my chyldren and my wyfe,
 	 Tyll God yt may amende.’
 117A.51	 ‘In what maner,’ than sayde Robyn,
 	 ‘Hast thou lorne thy rychesse?’
 	 ‘For my great  foly,’ he sayde,
 	 ‘And for my kynd[ ]nesse.
 117A.52	 ‘I hade a sone, forsoth, Robyn,
 	 That shulde hau[e] ben myn ayre,
 	 Whanne he was twenty wynter olde,
 	 In felde wolde iust full fayre.
 117A.53	 ‘He slewe a knyght of Lancaster,
 	 And a squyer bolde;
 	 For to saue hym in his ryght
 	 My godes both sette and solde.
 117A.54	 ‘My londes both sette to wedde, Robyn,
 	 Vntyll a certayn day,
 	 To a ryche abbot here besyde
 	 Of Seynt Mari Abbey.’
 117A.55	 ‘What is the som?’ sayde Robyn;
 	 ‘Trouth than tell thou me;’
 	 ‘Sir,’ he sayde, ’Foure hundred pounde;
 	 The abbot told it to me.’
 117A.56	 ‘Nowe and thou lese thy lond,’ sayde Robyn,
 	 ‘What woll fall of the?’
 	 ‘Hastely I wol me buske,’ sayd the knyght,
 	 ‘Ouer the salt  see,
 117A.57	 ‘And se w[h]ere Criste was quyke and dede,
 	 On the mount of Caluer ;
 	 Fare wel, frende, and haue gode day;
 	 It may no better be.’
 117A.58	 Teris fell out of hys iyen two;
 	 He wolde haue gone hys way:
 	 ‘Farewel, frende, and haue gode day;
 	 I ne haue no more to pay.’
 117A.59	 ‘Where be thy frend s?’ sayde Robyn:
 	 ‘Syr, neuer one wol me knowe;
 	 While I was ryche ynowe at home
 	 Great boste than wolde they blowe.
 117A.60	 ‘And nowe they renne away fro me,
 	 As bestis on a rowe;
 	 They take no more hede of me
 	 Thanne they had me neuer sawe.’
 117A.61	 For ruthe thanne wept Litell Johnn,
 	 Scarlok and Muche in fere;
 	 ‘Fyl of the best wyne,’ sayde Robyn,
 	 ‘For here is a symple chere.
 117A.62	 ‘Hast thou any frende,’ sayde Robyn,
 	 ‘Thy borowe that wold  be?’
 	 ‘I haue none,’ than sayde the knyght,
 	 ‘But God that dyed on tree.’
 117A.63	 ‘Do away thy iapis,’ than sayde Robyn,
 	 ‘Thereof wol I right none;
 	 Wenest thou I wolde haue God to borowe,
 	 Peter, Poule, or Johnn?
 117A.64	 ‘Nay, by hym that me made,
 	 And shope both sonne and mone,
 	 Fynde me a better borowe,’ sayde Robyn,
 	 ‘Or money getest thou none.’
 117A.65	 ‘I haue none other,’ sayde the knyght,
 	 ‘The sothe for to say,
 	 But yf yt be Our der  Lady;
 	 She fayled me neuer or thys day.’
 117A.66	 ‘By dere worthy God,’ sayde Robyn,
 	 ‘To seche all Englonde thorowe,
 	 Yet fonde I neuer to my pay
 	 A moche better borowe.
 117A.67	 ‘Come nowe furth, Litell Johnn,
 	 And go to my tresour ,
 	 And bringe me foure hundered pound,
 	 And loke well tolde it be.’
 117A.68	 Furth than went Litell Johnn,
 	 And Scarlok went before;
 	 He tolde oute foure hundred pounde
 	 By eight and twenty score.
 117A.69	 ‘Is thys well tolde?’ sayde [litell] Much;
 	 Johnn sayde, ‘What gre[ue]th the?
 	 It is almus to helpe a gentyll knyght,
 	 That is fal in pouert .
 117A.70	 ‘Master,’ than sayde Lityll John,
 	 ‘His clothinge is full thynne;
 	 Ye must gyue the knight a lyueray,
 	 To lappe his body therin.
 117A.71	 ‘For ye haue scarlet and grene, mayster,
 	 And man[y] a riche aray;
 	 Ther is no marchaunt in mery Englond
 	 So ryche, I dare well say.’
 117A.72	 ‘Take hym thre yerdes of euery colour,
 	 And loke well mete that it be;’
 	 Lytell Johnn toke none other mesure
 	 But his bow -tree.
 117A.73	 And at euery handfull that he met
 	 He lep d foot s three;
 	 ‘What deuyll s drapar,’ sayid litell Muche,
 	 ‘Thynkest thou for to be?’
 117A.74	 Scarlok stode full stil and loughe,
 	 And sayd, By God Almyght,
 	 Johnn may gyue hym gode mesure,
 	 For it costeth hym but lyght.
 117A.75	 ‘Mayster,’ than said Litell Johnn
 	 To gentill Robyn Hode,
 	 ‘Ye must giue the knig[h]t a hors,
 	 To lede home this gode.’
 117A.76	 ‘Take hym a gray coursar,’ sayde Robyn,
 	 ‘And a saydle newe;
 	 He is Oure Ladye’s messangere;
 	 God graunt that he be true.’
 117A.77	 ‘And a gode palfray,’ sayde lytell Much,
 	 ‘To mayntene hym in his right;’
 	 ‘And a peyre of bot s,’ sayde Scarlock,
 	 ‘For he is a gentyll knight.’
 117A.78	 ‘What shalt thou gyue hym, Litell John?’ said Robyn;
 	 ‘Sir, a peyre of gilt sporis clene,
 	 To pray for all this company;
 	 God bringe hym out of tene.’
 117A.79	 ‘Whan shal mi day be,’ said the knight,
 	 ‘Sir, and your wyll be?’
 	 ‘This day twelue moneth,’ saide Robyn,
 	 ‘Vnder this gren -wode tre.
 117A.80	 ‘It were greate sham ,’ sayde Robyn,
 	 ‘A knight alone to ryde,
 	 Without  squyre, yoman, or page,
 	 To walk  by his syde.
 117A.81	 ‘I shall the lende Litell John, my man,
 	 For he shalbe thy knaue;
 	 In a yema[n]’s stede he may the stande,
 	 If thou greate ned  haue.’
 117A.82	 Now is the knight gone on his way;
 	 This game hym thought full gode;
 	 Whanne he loked on Bernesdale
 	 He blessyd Robyn Hode.
 117A.83	 And whanne he thought on Bernysdale,
 	 On Scarlok, Much, and Johnn,
 	 He blyssyd them for the best company
 	 That euer he in come.
 117A.84	 Then spake that gentyll knyght,
 	 To Lytel Johan gan he saye,
 	 To-morrowe I must to Yorke toune,
 	 To Saynt Mary abbay.
 117A.85	 And to the abbot of that place
 	 Foure hondred pounde I must pay;
 	 And but I be there vpon this nyght
 	 My londe is lost for ay.
 117A.86	 The abbot sayd to his couent,
 	 There he stode on grounde,
 	 This day twelfe moneth came there a knyght
 	 And borowed foure hondred pounde.
 117A.87	 [He borowed foure hondred pounde,]
 	 Upon all his lond  fre;
 	 But he come this ylk  day
 	 Dysheryte shall he be.
 117A.88	 ‘It is full erely,’ sayd the pryoure,
 	 ‘The day is not yet ferre gone;
 	 I had leuer to pay an hondred pounde,
 	 And lay downe anone.
 117A.89	 ‘The knyght is ferre beyonde the see,
 	 In Englonde is his ryght,
 	 And suffreth honger and colde,
 	 And many a sory nyght.
 117A.90	 ‘It were grete pyt ,’ said the pryoure,
 	 ‘So to haue his londe;
 	 And ye be so lyght of your consyence,
 	 Ye do to hym moch wronge.’
 117A.91	 ‘Thou arte euer in my berde,’ sayd the abbot,
 	 ‘By God and Saynt Rycharde;’
 	 With that cam in a fat-heded monke,
 	 The heygh selerer.
 117A.92	 ‘He is dede or hanged,’ sayd the monke,
 	 ‘By God that bought me dere,
 	 And we shall haue to spende in this place
 	 Foure hondred pounde by yere.’
 117A.93	 The abbot and the hy selerer
 	 Stert  forthe full bolde,
 	 The [hye] iustyce of Englonde
 	 The abbot there dyde holde.
 117A.94	 The hy  iustyce and many mo
 	 Had take in to they[r] honde
 	 Holy all the knyght s det,
 	 To put that knyght to wronge.
 117A.95	 They demed the knyght wonder sore,
 	 The abbot and his meyn :
 	 ‘But he come this ylk  day
 	 Dysheryte shall he be.’
 117A.96	 ‘He wyll not come yet,’ sayd the iustyce,
 	 ‘Idare well vndertake;’
 	 But in sorowe tym  for them all
 	 The knyght came to the gate.
 117A.97	 Than bespake that gentyll knyght
 	 Untyll his meyn :
 	 Now put on your symple wedes
 	 That ye brought fro the see.
 117A.98	 [They put on their symple wedes,]
 	 They came to the gates anone;
 	 The porter was redy hymselfe,
 	 And welcomed them euerychone.
 117A.99	 ‘Welcome, syr knyght,’ sayd the porter;
 	 ‘My lorde to mete is he,
 	 And so is many a gentyll man,
 	 For the loue of the.’
 117A.100	The porter swore a full grete othe,
 RR’Brry	 God that mad  me,
 	 Here be the best coresed hors
 	 That euer yet sawe I me.
 117A.101	‘Lede them in to the stable,’ he sayd,
 	 ‘That eased myght they be;’
 	 ‘They shall not come therin,’ sayd the knyght,
 	 ‘By God that dyed on a tre.’
 117A.102	Lord s were to mete isette
 	 In that abbotes hall;
 	 The knyght went forth and kneled downe,
 	 And salued them grete and small.
 117A.103	‘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?’
 117A.104	‘Not one peny,’ sayd the knyght,
 	 ‘By God that maked me;’
 	 ‘Thou art a shrewed dettour,’ sayd the abbot;
 	 ‘Syr iustyce, drynke to me.
 117A.105	‘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.’
 117A.106	‘Thy daye is broke,’ sayd the iustyce,
 	 ‘Londe getest thou none:’
 	 ‘Now, good syr iustyce, be my frende,
 	 And fende me of my fone!’
 117A.107	‘I am holde with the abbot,’ sayd the iustyce,
 	 ‘Both with cloth and fee :’
 	 ‘Now, good syr sheryf, be my frende!’
 	 ‘Nay, for God,’ sayd he.
 117A.108	‘Now, good syr abbot, be my frende,
 	 For thy curteys ,
 	 And holde my lond s in thy honde
 	 Tyll I haue made the gree!
 117A.109	‘And I wyll be thy true seruaunte,
 	 And trewely seru  the,
 	 Tyl ye haue foure hondred pounde
 	 Of money good and free.’
 117A.110	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.’
 117A.111	‘By dere worthy God,’ then sayd the knyght,
 	 ‘That all this world  wrought,
 	 But I haue my londe agayne,
 	 Full dere it shall be bought.
 117A.112	‘God, that was of a mayden borne,
 	 Leue vs well to spede!
 	 For it is good to assay a frende
 	 Or that a man haue nede.’
 117A.113	The abbot lothely on hym gan loke,
 	 And vylaynesly hym gan call;
 	 ‘Out,’ he sayd, ’Thou fals  knyght,
 	 Spede the out of my hall!’
 117A.114	‘Thou lyest,’ then sayd the gentyll knyght,
 	 ‘Abbot, in thy hal;
 	 False knyght was I neuer,
 	 By God that made vs all.’
 117A.115	Vp then stode that gentyll knyght,
 	 To the abbot sayd he,
 	 To suffre a knyght to knele so longe,
 	 Thou canst no curteysye.
 117A.116	In ioust s and in tournement
 	 Full ferre than haue I be,
 	 And put my selfe as ferre in prees
 	 As ony that euer I se.
 117A.117	‘What wyll ye gyue more,’ sayd the iustice,
 	 ‘And the knyght shall make a releyse?
 	 And elles dare I safly swere
 	 Ye holde neuer your londe in pees.’
 117A.118	‘An hondred pounde,’ sayd the abbot;
 	 The justice sayd, Gyue hym two;
 	 ‘Nay, be God,’ sayd the knyght,
 	 ‘Yit gete ye it not so.
 117A.119	‘Though ye wolde gyue a thousand more,
 	 Yet were ye neuer the nere;
 	 Shall there neuer be myn heyre
 	 Abbot, iustice, ne frere.’
 117A.120	He stert hym to a borde anone,
 	 Tyll a table rounde,
 	 And there he shoke oute of a bagge
 	 Euen four hundred pound.
 117A.121	‘Haue here thi golde, sir abbot,’ saide the knight,
 	 ‘Which that thou lentest me;
 	 Had thou ben curtes at my comynge,
 	 Rewarded shuldest thou haue be.’
 117A.122	The abbot sat styll, and ete no more,
 	 For all his ryall fare;
 	 He cast his hede on his shulder,
 	 And fast began to stare.
 117A.123	‘Take me my golde agayne,’ saide the abbot,
 	 ‘Sir iustice, that I toke the:’
 	 ‘Not a peni,’ said the iustice,
 	 ‘Bi Go[d, that dy]ed on tree.’
 117A.124	‘Sir [abbot, and ye me]n of lawe,
 	 Now haue I holde my daye;
 	 Now shall I haue my londe agayne,
 	 For ought that you can saye.’
 117A.125	The knyght stert out of the dore,
 	 Awaye was all his care,
 	 And on he put his good clothynge,
 	 The other he lefte there.
 117A.126	He wente hym forth full mery syngynge,
 	 As men haue tolde in tale;
 	 His lady met hym at the gate,
 	 At home in Verysdale.
 117A.127	‘Welcome, my lorde,’ sayd his lady;
 	 ‘Syr, lost is all your good?’
 	 ‘Be mery, dame,’ sayd the knyght,
 	 ‘And pray for Robyn Hode,
 117A.128	‘That euer his soul  be in blysse:
 	 He holpe me out of tene;
 	 Ne had be his kynd nesse,
 	 Beggers had we bene.
 117A.129	‘The abbot and I accorded ben,
 	 He is serued of his pay;
 	 The god yoman lent it me,
 	 As I cam by the way.’
 117A.130	This knight than dwelled fayre at home,
 	 The sothe for to saye,
 	 Tyll he had gete four hundred pound,
 	 Al redy for to pay.
 117A.131	He purueyed him an hundred bowes,
 	 The stryng s well ydyght,
 	 An hundred shefe of arow s gode,
 	 The hedys burneshed full bryght;
 117A.132	And euery arowe an ell  longe,
 	 With pecok wel idyght,
 	 Inocked all with whyte siluer;
 	 It was a semely syght.
 117A.133	He purueyed hym an [hondreth men],
 	 Well harness[ed in that stede],
 	 And hym selfe in that same sete,
 	 And clothed in whyte and rede.
 117A.134	He bare a launsgay in his honde,
 	 And a man ledde his male,
 	 And reden with a lyght songe
 	 Vnto Bernysdale.
 117A.135	But as he went at a brydge ther was a wrastelyng,
 	 And there taryed was he,
 	 And there was all the best yemen
 	 Of all the west countree.
 117A.136	A full fayre game there was vp set,
 	 A whyte bulle vp i-pyght,
 	 A grete courser, with sadle and brydil,
 	 With golde burnyssht full bryght.
 117A.137	A payre of gloues, a rede golde rynge,
 	 A pype of wyne, in fay;
 	 What man that bereth hym best i-wys
 	 The pryce shall bere away.
 117A.138	There was a yoman in that place,
 	 And best worthy was he,
 	 And for he was ferre and frembde bested,
 	 Slayne he shulde haue be.
 117A.139	The knight had ruthe of this yoman,
 	 In plac  where he stode;
 	 He sayde that yoman shulde haue no harme,
 	 For loue of Robyn Hode.
 117A.140	The knyght presed in to the place,
 	 An hundreth folowed hym [free],
 	 With bow s bent and arow s sharpe,
 	 For to shende that companye.
 117A.141	They shulderd all and made hym rome,
 	 To wete what he wolde say;
 	 He toke the yeman bi the hande,
 	 And gaue hym al the play .
 117A.142	He gaue hym fyue marke for his wyne,
 	 There it lay on the molde,
 	 And bad it shulde be set a broche,
 	 Drynk  who so wolde.
 117A.143	Thus longe taried this gentyll knyght,
 	 Tyll that play was done;
 	 So longe abode Robyn fastinge,
 	 Thre hour s after the none.
 117A.144	Lyth and lystyn, gentilmen,
 	 All that nowe be here;
 	 Of Litell Johnn, that was the knight s man,
 	 Goode myrth ye shall here.
 117A.145	It was vpon a mery day
 	 That yonge men wolde go shete;
 	 Lytell Johnn fet his bowe anone,
 	 And sayde he wolde them mete.
 117A.146	Thre tymes Litell Johnn shet aboute,
 	 And alway he slet the wande;
 	 The proud  sherif of Notingham
 	 By the mark s can stande.
 117A.147	The sherif swore a full greate othe:
 	 ‘By hym that dyede on a tre,
 	 This man is the best arsch re
 	 That euer yet sawe I [me.]
 117A.148	‘Say me nowe, wight yonge man,
 	 What is nowe thy name?
 	 In what countre were thou borne,
 	 And where is thy wonynge wane?’
 117A.149	‘In Holdernes, sir, I was borne,
 	 I-wys al of my dame;
 	 Men cal me Reynolde Gren lef
 	 Whan I am at home.’
 117A.150	‘Sey me, Reyno[l]de Gren lefe,
 	 Wolde thou dwell with me?
 	 And euery yere I woll the gyue
 	 Twenty marke to thy fee.’
 117A.151	‘I haue a maister,’ sayde Litell Johnn,
 	 ‘A curteys knight is he;
 	 May ye leu  gete of hym,
 	 The better may it be.’
 117A.152	The sherif gate Litell John
 	 Twelue moneth s of the knight;
 	 Therfore he gaue him right anone
 	 A gode hors and a wight.
 117A.153	Nowe is Litell John the sherif s man,
 	 God lende vs well to spede!
 	 But alwey thought Lytell John
 	 To quyte hym wele his mede.
 117A.154	‘Nowe  so God me help ,’ sayde Litell John,
 	 ‘And by my true leutye,
 	 I shall be the worst seruaunt to hym
 	 That euer yet had he.’
 117A.155	fell vpon a Wednesday
 	 The sherif on huntynge was gone,
 	 And Litel Iohn lay in his bed,
 	 And was foriete at home.
 117A.156	Therfore he was fastinge
 	 Til it was past the none;
 	 ‘Gode sir stuarde, I pray to the,
 	 Gyue me my dynere,’ saide Litell John.
 117A.157	‘It is longe for Gren lefe
 	 Fastinge thus for to be;
 	 Therfor I pray the, sir stuarde,
 	 Mi dyner gif me.’
 117A.158	‘Shalt thou neuer ete ne drynke,’ saide the stuarde,
 	 ‘Tyll my lorde be come to towne:’
 	 ‘I  make myn auowe to God,’ saide Litell John,
 	 ‘I had leuer to crake thy crowne.’
 117A.159	The boteler was full vncurteys,
 	 There he stode on flore;
 	 He start to the botery
 	 And shet fast the dore.
 117A.160	Lytell Johnn gaue the boteler suche a tap
 	 His backe went nere in two;
 	 Though he liued an hundred ier,
 	 The wors shuld he go.
 117A.161	He sporned the dore with his fote;
 	 It went open wel and fyne;
 	 And there he made large lyueray,
 	 Bothe of ale and of wyne.
 117A.162	‘Sith ye wol nat dyne,’ sayde Litell John,
 	 ‘I shall gyue you to drinke;
 	 And though ye lyue an hundred wynter,
 	 On Lytel Johnn ye shall thinke.’
 117A.163	Litell John ete, and Litel John drank,
 	 The whil  that he wolde;
 	 The sherife had in his kechyn a coke,
 	 A stoute man and a bolde.
 117A.164	‘I make myn auowe to God,’ saide the coke,
 	 ‘Thou arte a shrewde hynde
 	 In ani hous for to dwel,
 	 For to ask  thus to dyne.’
 117A.165	And there he lent Litell John
 	 God[ ] strokis thre;
 	 ‘I make myn auowe to God,’ sayde Lytell John,
 	 ‘These strokis lyked well me.
 117A.166	‘Thou arte a bolde man and hardy,
 	 And so thinketh me;
 	 And or I pas fro this place
 	 Assayed better shalt thou be.’
 117A.167	Lytell Johnn drew a ful gode sworde,
 	 The coke toke another in hande;
 	 They thought no thynge for to fle,
 	 But stifly for to stande.
 117A.168	There they faught sore togedere
 	 Two myl  way and well more;
 	 Myght neyther other harme done,
 	 The mountnaunce of an owre.
 117A.169	‘I make myn auowe to God,’ sayde Litell Johnn,
 	 And by my true lewt ,
 	 Thou art one of the best sworde-men
 	 That euer yit sawe I [me.]
 117A.170	‘Cowdest thou shote as well in a bowe,
 	 To gren  wode thou shuldest with me,
 	 And two times in the yere thy clothinge
 	 Chaunged shuld  be;
 117A.171	‘And euery yere of Robyn Hode
 	 Twenty merke to thy fe:’
 	 ‘Put vp thy swerde,’ saide the coke,
 	 ‘And felow s woll we be.’
 117A.172	Thanne he fet to Lytell Johnn
 	 The nowmbles of a do,
 	 Gode brede, and full gode wyne;
 	 They ete and drank theretoo.
 117A.173	And when they had dronkyn well,
 	 Theyre trouth s togeder they plight
 	 That they wo[l]de be with Robyn
 	 That ylk  sam  nyght.
 117A.174	They dyd them to the tresoure-hows,
 	 As fast as they myght gone;
 	 The lokk s, that were of full gode stele,
 	 They brake them euerichone.
 117A.175	They toke away the siluer vessell,
 	 And all that they mig[h]t get;
 	 Pecis, masars, ne sponis,
 	 Wolde thei not forget.
 117A.176	Also [they] toke the god  pens,
 	 Thre hundred pounde and more,
 	 And did them st[r]eyte to Robyn Hode,
 	 Under the gren  wode hore.
 117A.177	‘God the saue, my der  mayster,
 	 And Criste the saue and se!’
 	 And thanne sayde Robyn to Litell Johnn,
 	 Welcome myght thou be.
 117A.178	‘Also be that fayre yeman
 	 Thou bryngest there with the;
 	 What tydyng s fro Noty[n]gham?
 	 Lytill Johnn, tell thou me.’
 117A.179	‘Well the gretith the proud  sheryf,
 	 And sende[th] the here by me
 	 His coke and his siluer vessell,
 	 And thre hundred pounde and thre.’
 117A.180	‘I make myne avowe to God,’ sayde Robyn,
 	 ‘And to the Trenyt ,
 	 It was  neuer by his gode wyll
 	 This gode is come to me.’
 117A.181	Lytyll Johnn there hym bethought
 	 On a shrewde wyle;
 	 Fyue myle in the forest he ran,
 	 Hym happed all his wyll.
 117A.182	Than he met the proud  sheref,
 	 Huntynge with houndes and horne;
 	 Lytell Johnn coude of curtesye,
 	 And knelyd hym beforne.
 117A.183	‘God the saue, my der  mayster,
 	 And Criste the saue and se!’
 	 ‘Reynolde Gren lefe,’ sayde the shryef,
 	 ‘Where hast thou nowe be?’
 117A.184	‘I haue be in this forest;
 	 A fayre syght can I se;
 	 It was one of the fayrest syghtes
 	 That euer yet sawe I me.
 117A.185	‘Yonder I sawe a ryght fayre harte,
 	 His coloure is of grene;
 	 Seuen score of dere vpon a herde
 	 Be with hym all bydene.
 117A.186	‘Their tynd s are so sharpe, maister,
 	 Of sexty, and well mo,
 	 That I durst not shote for drede,
 	 Lest they wolde me slo.’
 117A.187	‘I make myn auowe to God,’ sayde the shyref,
 	 ‘That syght wolde I fayne se:’
 	 ‘Buske you thyderwarde, mi der  mayster,
 	 Anone, and wende with me.’
 117A.188	The sherif rode, and Litell Johnn
 	 Of fote he was smerte,
 	 And whane they came before Robyn,
 	 ‘Lo, sir, here is the mayster-herte.’
 117A.189	Still stode the proud  sherief,
 	 A sory man was he;
 	 ‘Wo the worthe, Raynolde Gren lefe,
 	 Thou hast betrayed nowe me.’
 117A.190	‘I make myn auowe to God,’ sayde Litell Johnn,
 	 ‘Mayster, ye be to blame;
 	 I was mysserued of my dynere
 	 Whan I was with you at home.’
 117A.191	Sone he was to souper sette,
 	 And serued well with siluer white,
 	 And whan the sherif sawe his vessell,
 	 For sorowe he myght nat ete.
 117A.192	‘Make glad chere,’ sayde Robyn Hode,
 	 ‘Sherif, for charit ,
 	 And for the loue of Litill Johnn
 	 Thy lufe I graunt to the.’
 117A.193	Whan they had souped well,
 	 The day was al gone;
 	 Robyn commaunde[d] Litell Johnn
 	 To drawe of his hosen and his shone;
 117A.194	His kirtell, and his cote of pie,
 	 That was fured well and fine,
 	 And to[ke] hym a grene mantel,
 	 To lap his body therin.
 117A.195	Robyn commaundyd his wight yonge men,
 	 Vnder the gren -wode tree,
 	 They shulde lye in that same sute,
 	 That the sherif myght them see.
 117A.196	All nyght lay the proud  sherif
 	 In his breche and in his [s]chert;
 	 No wonder it was, in gren  wode,
 	 Though his syd s gan to smerte.
 117A.197	‘Make glade chere,’ sayde Robyn Hode,
 	 ‘Sheref, for charit ;
 	 For this is our ordre i-wys,
 	 Vnder the gren -wode tree.’
 117A.198	‘This is harder order,’ sayde the sherief,
 	 ‘Than any ankir or frere;
 	 For all the golde in mery Englonde
 	 I wolde nat longe dwell her.’
 117A.199	‘All this twelue monthes,’ sayde Robin,
 	 ‘Thou shalt dwell with me;
 	 I shall the tech , proud  sherif,
 	 An outlaw  for to be.’
 117A.200	‘Or I be here another nyght,’ sayde the sherif,
 	 ‘Robyn, nowe pray I the,
 	 Smyte of mijn hede rather to-morowe,
 	 And I forgyue it the.
 117A.201	‘Lat me go,’ than sayde the sherif,
 	 ‘For saynt  charit ,
 	 And I woll be the best[ ] frende
 	 That euer yet had ye.’
 117A.202	‘Thou shalt swere me an othe,’ sayde Robyn,
 	 ‘On my bright bronde;
 	 Shalt thou neuer awayte me scathe,
 	 By water ne by lande.
 117A.203	‘And if thou fynde any of my men,
 	 By nyght or [by] day,
 	 Vpon thyn oth  thou shalt swere
 	 To helpe them tha[t] thou may.’
 117A.204	Nowe hathe the sherif sworne his othe,
 	 And home he began to gone;
 	 He was as full of gren  wode
 	 As euer was hepe of stone.
 117A.205	The sherif dwelled in Notingham;
 	 He was fayne he was agone;
 	 And Robyn and his mery men
 	 Went to wode anone.
 117A.206	‘Go we to dyner,’ sayde Littell Johnn;
 	 Robyn Hode sayde, Nay;
 	 For I drede Our Lady be wroth with me,
 	 Foe she sent me nat my pay.
 117A.207	‘Haue no doute, maister,’ sayde Litell Johnn;
 	 ‘Yet is nat the sonne at rest;
 	 For I dare say, and sauely swere,
 	 The knight is true and truste.’
 117A.208	‘Take thy bowe in thy hande,’ sayde Robyn,
 	 ‘Late Much wende with the,
 	 And so shal Wyllyam Scarlok,
 	 And no man abyde with me.
 117A.209	‘And walke vp vnder the Sayles,
 	 And to Watlynge-strete,
 	 And wayte after some vnketh gest;
 	 Vp-chaunce ye may them mete.
 117A.210	‘Whether he be messengere,
 	 Or a man that myrth s can,
 	 Of my good he shall haue some,
 	 Yf he be a por  man.’
 117A.211	Forth then stert Lytel Johan,
 	 Half in tray and tene,
 	 And gyrde hym with a full good swerde,
 	 Under a mantel of grene.
 117A.212	They went vp to the Sayles,
 	 These yemen all thre;
 	 They loked est, they loked west,
 	 They myght no man se.
 117A.213	But as [t]he[y] loked in Bernysdale,
 	 By the hy  waye,
 	 Than were they ware of two blacke monkes,
 	 Eche on a good palferay.
 117A.214	Then bespake Lytell Johan,
 	 To Much he gan say,
 	 I dare lay my lyfe to wedde,
 	 That [these] monkes haue brought our pay.
 117A.215	‘Make glad chere,’ sayd Lytell Johan,
 	 ‘And frese your bowes of ewe,
 	 And loke your hert s be seker and sad,
 	 Your stryng s trusty and trewe.
 117A.216	‘The monke hath two and fifty [men,]
 	 And seuen somers full stronge;
 	 There rydeth no bysshop in this londe
 	 So ryally, I vnderstond.
 117A.217	‘Brethern,’ sayd Lytell Johan,
 	 ‘Here are no more but we thre;
 	 But we bryng  them to dyner,
 	 Our mayster dare we not se.
 117A.218	‘Bende your bowes,’ sayd Lytell Johan,
 	 ‘Make all yon prese to stonde;
 	 The formost monke, his lyfe and his deth
 	 Is closed in my honde.
 117A.219	‘Abyde, chorle monke,’ sayd Lytell Johan,
 	 ‘No ferther that thou gone;
 	 Yf thou doost, by dere worthy God,
 	 Thy deth is in my honde.
 117A.220	‘And euyll thryfte on thy hede,’ sayd Lytell Johan,
 	 ‘Ryght vnder thy hatt s bonde;
 	 For thou hast made our mayster wroth,
 	 He is fastynge so longe.’
 117A.221	‘Who is your mayster?’ sayd the monke;
 	 Lytell Johan sayd, Robyn Hode;
 	 ‘He is a stronge thefe,’ sayd the monke,
 	 ‘Of hym herd I neuer good.’
 117A.222	‘Thou lyest,’ than sayd Lytell Johan,
 	 ‘And that shall rew  the;
 	 He is a yeman of the forest,
 	 To dyne he hath bod  the.’
 117A.223	Much was redy with a bolte,
 	 Redly and anone,
 	 He set the monke to-fore the brest,
 	 To the grounde that he can gone.
 117A.224	Of two and fyfty wyght yonge yemen
 	 There abode not one,
 	 Saf a lytell page and a grome,
 	 To lede the somers with Lytel Johan.
 117A.225	They brought the monke to the lodg -dore,
 	 Whether he were loth or lefe,
 	 For to speke with Robyn Hode,
 	 Maugre in theyr tethe.
 117A.226	Robyn dyde adowne his hode,
 	 The monke whan that he se;
 	 The monke was not so curt yse,
 	 His hode then let he be.
 117A.227	‘He is a chorle, mayster, by dere worthy God,’
 	 Than sayd Lytell Johan:
 	 ‘Thereof no force,’ sayd Robyn,
 	 ‘For curteysy can he none.
 117A.228	‘How many men,’ sayd Robyn,
 	 ‘Had this monke, Johan?’
 	 ‘Fyfty and two whan that we met,
 	 But many of them be gone.’
 117A.229	‘Let blowe a horne,’ sayd Robyn,
 	 ‘That felaushyp may vs knowe;’
 	 Seuen score of wyght yemen
 	 Came pryckynge on a rowe.
 117A.230	And euerych of them a good mantell
 	 Of scarlet and of raye;
 	 All they came to good Robyn,
 	 To wyte what he wolde say.
 117A.231	They made the monke to wasshe and wype,
 	 And syt at his denere,
 	 Robyn Hode and Lytell Johan
 	 They serued him both in-fere.
 117A.232	‘Do gladly, monke,’ sayd Robyn.
 	 ‘Gramercy, syr,’ sayd he.
 	 ‘Where is your abbay, whan ye are at home,
 	 And who is your avow ?’
 117A.233	‘Saynt Mary abbay,’ sayd the monke,
 	 ‘Though I be symple here.’
 	 ‘In what offyce?’ sayd Robyn:
 	 ‘Syr, the hy  selerer.’
 117A.234	‘Ye be the more welcome,’ sayd Robyn,
 	 ‘So euer mote I the;
 	 Fyll of the best wyne,’ sayd Robyn,
 	 ’This monke shall drynke to me.
 117A.235	‘But I haue grete meruayle,’ sayd Robyn,
 	 ‘Of all this long  day;
 	 I drede Our Lady be wroth with me,
 	 She sent me not my pay.’
 117A.236	‘Haue no doute, mayster,’ sayd Lytell Johan,
 	 ‘Ye haue no nede, I saye;
 	 This monke it hath brought, I dare well swere,
 	 For he is of her abbay.’
 117A.237	‘And she was a borowe,’ sayd Robyn,
 	 ‘Betwene a knyght and me,
 	 Of a lytell money that I hym lent,
 	 Under the g’Rene-wode tree.
 117A.238	‘And yf thou hast that syluer ibrought,
 	 I pray the let me se;
 	 And I shall help  the eftsones,
 	 Yf thou haue nede to me.’
 117A.239	The monke swore a full grete othe,
 	 With a sory chere,
 	 ‘Of the borowehode thou spekest to me,
 	 Herde I neuer ere.’
 117A.240	‘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.
 117A.241	‘Thou toldest with thyn own  tonge,
 	 Thou may not say nay,
 	 How thou arte her seruaunt,
 	 And seruest her euery day.
 117A.242	‘And thou art made her messengere,
 	 My money for to pay;
 	 Therfore I cun the mor  thanke
 	 Thou arte come at thy day.
 117A.243	‘What is in your cofers?’ sayd Robyn,
 	 ‘Trewe than tell thou me:’
 	 ‘Syr,’ he sayd, ’Twenty marke,
 	 Al so mote I the.’
 117A.244	‘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.
 117A.245	‘And yf I fynd  [more,’ sayd] Robyn,
 	 ‘I-wys thou shalte it for gone;
 	 For of thy spendynge-syluer, monke,
 	 Thereof wyll I ryght none.
 117A.246	‘Go nowe forthe, Lytell Johan,
 	 And the trouth tell thou me;
 	 If there be no more but twenty marke,
 	 No peny that I se.’
 117A.247	Lytell Johan spred his mantell downe,
 	 As he had done before,
 	 And he tolde out of the monk s male
 	 Eyght [hondred] pounde and more.
 117A.248	Lytell Johan let it lye full styll,
 	 And went to his mayster in hast;
 	 ‘Syr,’ he sayd, ’The monke is trewe ynowe,
 	 Our Lady hath doubled your cast.’
 117A.249	‘I make myn avowe to God,’ sayd Robyn-+--+-
 	 ‘Monke, what tolde I the?-+--+-
 	 Our Lady is the trewest woman
 	 That euer yet founde I me.
 117A.250	‘By dere worthy God,’ sayd Robyn,
 	 ‘To seche all Englond thorowe,
 	 Yet founde I neuer to my pay
 	 A moche better borowe.
 117A.251	‘Fyll of the best wyne, and do hym drynke,’ sayd Robyn,
 	 ‘And grete well thy lady hende,
 	 And yf she haue nede to Robyn Hode,
 	 A frende she shall hym fynde.
 117A.252	‘And yf she nedeth ony more syluer,
 	 Come thou agayne to me,
 	 And, by this token she hath me sent,
 	 She shall haue such thre.’
 117A.253	The monke was goynge to London ward,
 	 There to holde grete mote,
 	 The knyght that rode so hye on hors,
 	 To brynge hym vnder fote.
 117A.254	‘Whether be ye away?’ sayd Robyn:
 	 ‘Syr, to maners in this londe,
 	 Too reken with our reues,
 	 That haue done moch wronge.’
 117A.255	‘Come now forth, Lytell Johan,
 	 And harken to my tale;
 	 A better yemen I knowe none,
 	 To seke a monk s male.’
 117A.256	‘How moch is in yonder other corser?’ sayd Robyn,
 	 ‘The soth must we see:’
 	 ‘By Our Lady,’ than sayd the monke,
 	 ‘That were no curteysye,
 117A.257	‘To bydde a man to dyner,
 	 And syth hym bete and bynde.’
 	 ‘It is our old  maner,’ sayd Robyn,
 	 ‘To leue but lytell behynde.’
 117A.258	The monke toke the hors with spore,
 	 No lenger wolde he abyde:
 	 ‘Ask  to drynk ,’ than sayd Robyn,
 	 ‘Or that ye forther ryde.’
 117A.259	‘Nay, for God,’ than sayd the monke,
 	 ‘Me reweth I cam so nere;
 	 For better chepe I myght haue dyned
 	 In Blythe or in Dankestere.’
 117A.260	‘Grete well your abbot,’ sayd Robyn,
 	 ‘And your pryour, I you pray,
 	 And byd hym send me such a monke
 	 To dyner euery day.’
 117A.261	Now lete we that monke be styll,
 	 And speke we of that knyght:
 	 Yet he came to holde his day,
 	 Whyle that it was lyght.
 117A.262	He dyde him streyt to Bernysdale,
 	 Under the gren -wode tre,
 	 And he founde there Robyn Hode,
 	 And all his mery meyn .
 117A.263	The knyght lyght doune of his good palfray;
 	 Robyn whan he gan see,
 	 So curteysly he dyde adoune his hode,
 	 And set hym on his knee.
 117A.264	‘God the sau , Robyn Hode,
 	 And all this company:’
 	 ‘Welcome be thou, gentyll knyght,
 	 And ryght welcome to me.’
 117A.265	Than bespake hym Robyn Hode,
 	 To that knyght so fre:
 	 What ned  dryueth the to gren  wode?
 	 I praye the, syr knyght, tell me.
 117A.266	‘And welcome be thou, ge[n]tyll knyght,
 	 Why hast thou be so longe?’
 	 ‘For the abbot and the hy  iustyce
 	 Wolde haue had my londe.’
 117A.267	‘Hast thou thy londe [a]gayne?’ sayd Robyn;
 	 ‘Treuth than tell thou me:’
 	 ‘Ye, for God,’ sayd the knyght,
 	 ‘And that thanke I God and the.
 117A.268	‘But take not a grefe,’ sayd the knyght, ’That I haue be so longe;
 	 I came by a wrastelynge,
 	 And there I holpe a por  yeman,
 	 With wronge was put behynde.’
 117A.269	‘Nay, for God,’ sayd Robyn,
 	 ‘Syr knyght, that thanke I the;
 	 What man that helpeth a good yeman,
 	 His frende than wyll I be.’
 117A.270	‘Haue here foure hondred pounde,’ than sayd the knyght,
 	 ‘The whiche ye lent to me;
 	 And here is also twenty marke
 	 For your curteysy.’
 117A.271	‘Nay, for God,’ than sayd Robyn,
 	 ‘Thou broke it well for ay;
 	 For Our Lady, by her [hy ] selerer,
 	 Hath sent to me my pay.
 117A.272	‘And yf I toke it i-twyse,
 	 A shame it were to me;
 	 But trewely, gentyll knyght,
 	 Welcom arte thou to me.’
 117A.273	Whan Robyn had tolde his tale,
 	 He leugh and had good chere:
 	 ‘By my trouthe,’ then sayd the knyght,
 	 ‘Your money is redy here.’
 117A.274	‘Broke it well,’ sayd Robyn,
 	 ‘Thou gentyll knyght so fre;
 	 And welcome be thou, ge[n]tyll knyght,
 	 Under my trystell-tre.
 117A.275	‘But what shall these bow s do?’ sayd Robyn,
 	 ‘And these arow s ifedred fre?’
 	 ‘By God,’ than sayd the knyght,
 	 ‘A por  present to the.’
 117A.276	‘Come now forth, Lytell Johan,
 	 And go to my treasur ,
 	 And brynge me there foure hondred pounde;
 	 The monke ouer-tolde it me.
 117A.277	‘Haue here foure hondred pounde,
 	 Thou gentyll knyght and trewe,
 	 And bye hors and harnes good,
 	 And gylte thy spores all newe.
 117A.278	‘And yf thou fayle ony spendynge,
 	 Com to Robyn Hode,
 	 And by my trouth thou shalt none fayle,
 	 The whyles I haue any good.
 117A.279	‘And broke well thy foure hondred pound,
 	 Whiche I lent to the,
 	 And make thy selfe no more so bare,
 	 By the counsell of me.’
 117A.280	Thus than holpe hym good Robyn,
 	 The knyght all of his care:
 	 God, that syt in heuen hye,
 	 Graunte vs well to fare!
 117A.281	Now hath the knyght his leue i-take,
 	 And wente hym on his way;
 	 Robyn Hode and his mery men
 	 Dwelled styll full many a day.
 117A.282	Lyth and lysten, gentil men,
 	 And herken what I shall say,
 	 How the proud[ ] sheryfe of Notyngham
 	 Dyde crye a full fayre play;
 117A.283	That all the best archers of the north
 	 Sholde come vpon a day,
 	 And [he] that shoteth allther best
 	 The game shall bere a way.
 117A.284	He that shoteth allther best,
 	 Furthest fayre and lowe,
 	 At a payre of fynly buttes,
 	 Under the gren -wode shawe,
 117A.285	A ryght good arowe he shall haue,
 	 The shaft of syluer whyte,
 	 The hede and the feders of ryche red golde,
 	 In Englond is none lyke.
 117A.286	This than herde good Robyn,
 	 Under his trystell-tre:
 	 ‘Make you redy, ye wyght yonge men;
 	 That shotynge wyll I se.
 117A.287	‘Buske you, my mery yonge men,
 	 Ye shall go with me;
 	 And I wyll wete the shryu s fayth,
 	 Trewe and yf he be.’
 117A.288	Whan they had theyr bowes i-bent,
 	 Theyr takles fedred fre,
 	 Seuen score of wyght yonge men
 	 Stode by Robyns kne.
 117A.289	Whan they cam to Notyngham,
 	 The buttes were fayre and longe;
 	 Many was the bolde archere
 	 That shoted with bow s stronge.
 117A.290	‘There shall but syx shote with me;
 	 The other shal kepe my he[ue]de,
 	 And stand  with good bow s bent,
 	 That I be not desceyued.’
 117A.291	The fourth outlawe his bowe gan bende,
 	 And that was Robyn Hode,
 	 And that behelde the proud[ ] sheryfe,
 	 All by the but [as] he stode.
 117A.292	Thry s Robyn shot about,
 	 And alway he slist the wand,
 	 And so dyde good Gylberte
 	 Wyth the whyt  hande.
 117A.293	Lytell Johan and good Scatheloke
 	 Were archers good and fre;
 	 Lytell Much and good Reynolde,
 	 The worste wolde they not be.
 117A.294	Whan they had shot aboute,
 	 These archours fayre and good,
 	 Euermore was the best,
 	 For soth, Robyn Hode.
 117A.295	Hym was delyuered the good arowe,
 	 For best worthy was he;
 	 He toke the yeft so curteysly,
 	 To gren  wode wolde he.
 117A.296	They cryed out on Robyn Hode,
 	 And grete horn s gan they blowe:
 	 ‘Wo worth the, treason!’ sayd Robyn,
 	 ‘Full euyl thou art to knowe.
 117A.297	‘And wo be thou! thou proud  sheryf,
 	 Thus gladdynge thy gest;
 	 Other wyse thou behot  me
 	 In yonder wylde forest.
 117A.298	‘But had I the in gren  wode,
 	 Under my trystell-tre,
 	 Thou sholdest leue me a better wedde
 	 Than thy trewe lewt .’
 117A.299	Full many a bow  there was bent,
 	 And arow s let they glyde;
 	 Many a kyrtell there was rent,
 	 And hurt many a syde.
 117A.300	The outlawes shot was so stronge
 	 That no man myght them dryue,
 	 And the proud[ ] sheryf s men,
 	 They fled away full blyue.
 117A.301	Robyn sawe the busshement to-broke,
 	 In gren  wode he wolde haue be;
 	 Many an arowe there was shot
 	 Amonge that company.
 117A.302	Lytell Johan was hurte full sore,
 	 With an arowe in his kne,
 	 That he myght neyther go nor ryde;
 	 It was full grete pyt .
 117A.303	‘Mayster,’ then sayd Lytell Johan,
 	 ‘If euer thou loue[d]st me,
 	 And for that ylk  lord s loue
 	 That dyed vpon a tre,
 117A.304	‘And for the medes of my seruyce,
 	 That I haue serued the,
 	 Lete neuer the proud  sheryf
 	 Alyue now fynd  me.
 117A.305	‘But take out thy brown  swerde,
 	 And smyte all of my hede,
 	 And gyue me wound s depe and wyde;
 	 No lyfe on me be lefte.’
 117A.306	‘I wolde not that,’ sayd Robyn,
 	 ‘Johan, that thou were slawe,
 	 For all the golde in mery Englonde,
 	 Though it lay now on a rawe.’
 117A.307	‘God forbede,’ sayd Lytell Much,
 	 ‘That dyed on a tre,
 	 That thou sholdest, Lytell Johan,
 	 Parte our company.’
 117A.308	Up he toke hym on his backe,
 	 And bare hym well a myle;
 	 Many a tyme he layd hym downe,
 	 And shot another whyle.
 117A.309	n was there a fayre castell,
 	 A lytell within the wode;
 	 Double-dyched it was about,
 	 And walled, by the rode.
 117A.310	And there dwelled that gentyll knyght,
 	 Syr Rychard at the Lee,
 	 That Robyn had lent his good,
 	 Under the gren -wode tree.
 117A.311	In he toke good Robyn,
 	 And all his company:
 	 ‘Welcome be thou, Robyn Hode,
 	 Welcome arte thou to me;
 117A.312	‘And moche [I] thanke the of thy confort,
 	 And of thy curteysye,
 	 And of thy gret  kynd nesse,
 	 Under the gren -wode tre.
 117A.313	‘I loue no man in all this worlde
 	 So much as I do the;
 	 For all the proud[ ] sheryf of Notyngham,
 	 Ryght here shalt thou be.
 117A.314	‘Shyt the gates, and drawe the brydge,
 	 And let no man come in,
 	 And arme you well, and make you redy,
 	 And to the walles ye wynne.
 117A.315	‘For one thynge, Robyn, I the behote;
 	 Iswere by Saynt Quyntyne,
 	 These forty dayes thou wonnest with me,
 	 To soupe, ete, and dyne.’
 117A.316	Bordes were layde, and clothes were spredde,
 	 Redely and anone;
 	 Robyn Hode and his mery men
 	 To met  can they gone.
 117A.317	Lythe and lysten, gentylmen,
 	 And herkyn to your songe;
 	 Howe the proud  shyref of Notyngham,
 	 And men of armys stronge,
 117A.318	Full fast cam to the hy  shyref,
 	 The contr  vp to route,
 	 And they besette the knyght s castell,
 	 The wall s all aboute.
 117A.319	The proud  shyref loude gan crye,
 	 And sayde, Thou traytour knight,
 	 Thou kepest here the kynges enemys,
 	 Agaynst the lawe and right.
 117A.320	‘Syr, I wyll auowe that I haue done,
 	 The dedys that here be dyght,
 	 Vpon all the land s that I haue,
 	 As I am a trew  knyght.
 117A.321	‘Wende furth, sirs, on your way,
 	 And do no more to me
 	 Tyll ye wyt oure kyng s wille,
 	 What he wyll say to the.’
 117A.322	The shyref thus had his answere,
 	 Without any lesynge;
 	 [Fu]rth he yede to London towne,
 	 All for to tel our kinge.
 117A.323	Ther he telde him of that knight,
 	 And eke of Robyn Hode,
 	 And also of the bolde archars,
 	 That were soo noble and gode.
 117A.324	‘He wyll auowe that he hath done,
 	 To mayntene the outlawes stronge;
 	 He wyll be lorde, and set you at nought,
 	 In all the northe londe.’
 117A.325	‘I wil be at Notyngham,’ saide our kynge,
 	 ‘Within this fourteenyght,
 	 And take I wyll Robyn Hode,
 	 And so I wyll that knight.
 117A.326	‘Go nowe home, shyref,’ sayde our kynge,
 	 ‘And do as I byd the;
 	 And ordeyn gode archers ynowe,
 	 Of all the wyd  contr .’
 117A.327	The shyref had his leue i-take,
 	 And went hym on his way,
 	 And Robyn Hode to gren  wode,
 	 Vpon a certen day.
 117A.328	And Lytel John was hole of the arowe
 	 That shot was in his kne,
 	 And dyd hym streyght to Robyn Hode,
 	 Vnder the grene-wod  tree.
 117A.329	Robyn Hode walked in the forest,
 	 Vnder the leuys grene;
 	 The proud  shyref of Notyngham
 	 Thereof he had grete tene.
 117A.330	The shyref there fayled of Robyn Hode,
 	 He myght not haue his pray;
 	 Than he awayted this gentyll knyght,
 	 Bothe by nyght and day.
 117A.331	Euer he wayted the gentyll knyght,
 	 Syr Richarde at the Lee,
 	 As he went on haukynge by the ryuer-syde,
 	 And let [his] hauk s flee.
 117A.332	Toke he there this gentyll knight,
 	 With men of armys stronge,
 	 And led hym to Notyngham warde,
 	 Bounde bothe fote and hande.
 117A.333	The sheref sware a full grete othe,
 	 Bi hym that dyed on rode,
 	 He had leuer than an hundred pound
 	 That he had Robyn Hode.
 117A.334	This harde the knyght s wyfe,
 	 A fayr lady and a free;
 	 She set hir on a gode palfrey,
 	 To gre’Ne wode anone rode she.
 117A.335	Whanne she cam in the forest,
 	 Vnder the  gren -wode tree,
 	 Fonde she there Robyn Hode,
 	 And al his fayre men .
 117A.336	‘God the sau , god  Robyn,
 	 And all thy company;
 	 For Our der  Ladyes sake,
 	 A bon  graunte thou me.
 117A.337	‘Late neuer my wedded lorde
 	 Shamefully slayne be;
 	 He is fast bowne to Notingham warde,
 	 For the loue of the.’
 117A.338	Anone than saide goode Robyn
 	 To that lady so fre,
 	 What man hath your lorde [i-]take?
 	 . . . . . .
 117A.339	. . . . . .
 	 ‘For soth as I the say;
 	 He is nat yet thre myl s
 	 Passed on his way.’
 117A.340	Vp than sterte gode Robyn,
 	 As man that had ben wode:
 	 ‘Buske you, my mery men,
 	 For hym that dyed on rode.
 117A.341	‘And he that this sorowe forsaketh,
 	 By hym that dyed on tre,
 	 Shall he neuer in gren  wode
 	 No lenger dwel with me.’
 117A.342	Sone there were gode bow s bent,
 	 Mo than seuen score;
 	 Hedge ne dyche spared they none
 	 That was them before.
 117A.343	‘I make myn auowe to God,’ sayde Robyn,
 	 ‘The sherif wolde I fayne see;
 	 And if I may hym take,
 	 I-quyte shall it be.’
 117A.344	And whan they came to Notingham,
 	 They walked in the strete;
 	 And with the proud  sherif i-wys
 	 Son  can they mete.
 117A.345	‘Abyde, thou proud  sherif,’ he sayde,
 	 ‘Abyde, and speke with me;
 	 Of some tidinges of oure kinge
 	 I wolde fayne here of the.
 117A.346	‘This seuen yere, by dere worthy God,
 	 Ne yede I this fast on fote;
 	 I make myn auowe to God, thou proud  sherif,
 	 It is nat for thy gode.’
 117A.347	Robyn bent a full goode bowe,
 	 An arrowe he drowe at wyll;
 	 He hit so the proud  sherife
 	 Vpon the grounde he lay full still.
 117A.348	And or he myght vp aryse,
 	 On his fete to stonde,
 	 He smote of the sherifs hede
 	 With his bright[ ] bronde.
 117A.349	‘Lye thou there, thou proud  sherife,
 	 Euyll mote thou cheue!
 	 There myght no man to the truste
 	 The whyles thou were a lyue.’
 117A.350	His men drewe out theyr bryght swerdes,
 	 That were so sharpe and kene,
 	 And layde on the sheryues men,
 	 And dryued them downe bydene.
 117A.351	Robyn stert to that knyght,
 	 And cut a two his bonde,
 	 And toke hym in his hand a bowe,
 	 And bad hym by hym stonde.
 117A.352	‘Leue thy hors the behynde,
 	 And lerne for to renne;
 	 Thou shalt with me to gren  wode,
 	 Through myr , mosse, and fenne.
 117A.353	‘Thou shalt with me to gren  wode,
 	 Without ony leasynge,
 	 Tyll that I haue gete vs grace
 	 Of Edwarde, our comly kynge.’
 117A.354	The kynge came to Notynghame,
 	 With knyght s in grete araye,
 	 For to take that gentyll knyght
 	 And Robyn Hode, and yf he may.
 117A.355	He asked men of that countr 
 	 After Robyn Hode,
 	 And after that gentyll knyght,
 	 That was so bolde and stout.
 117A.356	Whan they had tolde hym the case
 	 Our kynge vnderstode ther tale,
 	 And seased in his honde
 	 The knyght s lond s all.
 117A.357	All the passe of Lancasshyre
 	 He went both ferre and nere,
 	 Tyll he came to Plomton Parke;
 	 He faylyd many of his dere.
 117A.358	There our kynge was wont to se
 	 Herd s many one,
 	 He coud vnneth fynde one dere,
 	 That bare ony good horne.
 117A.359	The kynge was wonder wroth withall,
 	 And swore by the Trynyt ,
 	 ‘I wolde I had Robyn Hode,
 	 With eyen I myght hym se.
 117A.360	‘And he that wolde smyte of the knyght s hede,
 	 And brynge it to me,
 	 He shall haue the knyght s londes,
 	 Syr Rycharde at the Le.
 117A.361	‘I gyue it hym with my charter,
 	 And sele it [with] my honde,
 	 To haue and holde for euer more,
 	 In all mery Englonde.’
 117A.362	Than bespake a fayre olde knyght,
 	 That was treue in his fay:
 	 A, my leeg  lorde the kynge,
 	 One worde I shall you say.
 117A.363	There is no man in this countr 
 	 May haue the knyght s londes,
 	 Whyle Robyn Hode may ryde of gone,
 	 And bere a bowe in his hondes,
 117A.364	That he ne shall lese his hede,
 	 That is the best ball in his hode:
 	 Giue it no man, my lorde the kynge,
 	 That ye wyll any good.
 117A.365	Half a yere dwelled our comly kynge
 	 In Notyngham, and well more;
 	 Coude he not here of Robyn Hode,
 	 In what countr  that he were.
 117A.366	But alway went good Robyn
 	 By halke and eke by hyll,
 	 And alway slewe the kyng s dere,
 	 And welt them at his wyll.
 117A.367	Than bespake a proude fostere,
 	 That stode by our kyng s kne;
 	 Yf ye wyll se good Robyn,
 	 Ye must do after me.
 117A.368	Take fyue of the best knyght s
 	 That be in your lede,
 	 And walke downe by yon abbay,
 	 And gete you monk s wede.
 117A.369	And I wyll be your led s-man,
 	 And lede you the way,
 	 And or ye come to Notyngham,
 	 Myn hede then dare I lay,
 117A.370	That ye shall mete with good Robyn,
 	 On lyue yf that he be;
 	 Or ye come to Notyngham,
 	 With eyen ye shall hym se.
 117A.371	Full hast[ ]ly our kynge was dyght,
 	 So were his knyght s fyue,
 	 Euerych of them in monk s wede,
 	 And hasted them thyder blyve.
 117A.372	Our kynge was grete aboue his cole,
 	 A brode hat on his crowne,
 	 Ryght as he were abbot-lyke,
 	 They rode up in-to the towne.
 117A.373	Styf bot s our kynge had on,
 	 Forsoth as I you say;
 	 He rode syngynge to gren  wode,
 	 The couent was clothed in graye.
 117A.374	His male-hors and his gret  somers
 	 Folowed our kynge behynde,
 	 Tyll they came to gren  wode,
 	 A myle vnder the lynde.
 117A.375	There they met with good Robyn,
 	 Stondynge on the waye,
 	 And so dyde many a bolde archere,
 	 For soth as I you say.
 117A.376	Robyn toke the kyng s hors,
 	 Hast ly in that stede,
 	 And sayd, Syr abbot, by your leue,
 	 A whyle ye must abyde.
 117A.377	‘We be yemen of this foreste,
 	 Vnder the gren -wode tre;
 	 We lyue by our kyng s dere,
 	 [Other shyft haue not wee.]
 117A.378	‘And ye haue chyrches and rent s both,
 	 And gold full grete plent ;
 	 Gyue vs some of your spendynge,
 	 For saynt[ ] charyt .’
 117A.379	Than bespake our cumly kynge,
 	 Anone than sayd he;
 	 I brought no more to gren  wode
 	 But forty pounde with me.
 117A.380	I haue layne at Notyngham
 	 This fourtynyght with our kynge,
 	 And spent I haue full moche good,
 	 On many a grete lordynge.
 117A.381	And I haue but forty pounde,
 	 No more than haue I me;
 	 But yf I had an hondred pounde,
 	 I wolde vouch it safe on the.
 117A.382	Robyn toke the forty pounde,
 	 And departed it in two partye;
 	 Halfendell he gaue his mery men,
 	 And bad them mery to be.
 117A.383	Full curteysly Robyn gan say;
 	 Syr, haue this for your spendyng;
 	 We shall mete another day;
 	 ‘Gramercy,’ than sayd our kynge.
 117A.384	‘But well the greteth Edwarde, our kynge,
 	 And sent to the his seale,
 	 And byddeth the com to Notyngham,
 	 Both to mete and mele’
 117A.385	He toke out the brod  targe,
 	 And sone he lete hym se;
 	 Robyn coud his courteysy,
 	 And set hym on his kne.
 117A.386	‘I loue no man in all the worlde
 	 So well as I do my kynge;
 	 Welcome is my lord s seale;
 	 And, monke, for thy tydynge,
 117A.387	‘Syr abbot, for thy tydynges,
 	 To day thou shalt dyne with me,
 	 For the loue of my kynge,
 	 Under my trystell-tre.’
 117A.388	Forth he lad our comly kynge,
 	 Full fayre by the honde;
 	 Many a dere there was slayne,
 	 And full fast dyghtande.
 117A.389	Robyn toke a full grete horne,
 	 And loude he gan blowe;
 	 Seuen score of wyght yonge men
 	 Came redy on a rowe.
 117A.390	All they kneled on theyr kne,
 	 Full fayre before Robyn:
 	 The kynge sayd hym selfe vntyll,
 	 And swore by Saynt Austyn,
 117A.391	‘Here is a wonder semely syght;
 	 Me thynketh, by Godd s pyne,
 	 His men are more at his byddynge
 	 Then my men be at myn.’
 117A.392	Full hast[ ]ly was theyr dyner idyght,
 	 And therto gan they gone;
 	 They serued our kynge with al theyr myght,
 	 Both Robyn and Lytell Johan.
 117A.393	Anone before our kynge was set
 	 The fatt  venyson,
 	 The good whyte brede, the good rede wyne,
 	 And therto the fyne ale and browne.
 117A.394	‘Make good chere,’ said Robyn,
 	 ‘Abbot, for charyt ;
 	 And for this ylk  tydynge,
 	 Blyssed mote thou be.
 117A.395	‘Now shalte thou se what lyfe we lede,
 	 Or thou hens wende;
 	 Than thou may enfourme our kynge,
 	 Whan ye togyder lende.’
 117A.396	Up they stert  all in hast,
 	 Theyr bow s were smartly bent;
 	 Our kynge was neuer so sore agast,
 	 He wende to haue be shente.
 117A.397	Two yerd s there were vp set,
 	 Thereto gan they gange;
 	 By fyfty pase, our kynge sayd,
 	 The merk s were to longe.
 117A.398	On euery syde a rose-garlonde,
 	 They shot vnder the lyne:
 	 ‘Who so fayleth of the rose-garlonde,’ sayd Robyn,
 	 ‘His takyll he shall tyne,
 117A.399	‘And yelde it to his mayster,
 	 Be it neuer so fyne;
 	 For no man wyll I spare,
 	 So drynke I ale or wyne:
 117A.400	‘And bere a buffet on his hede,
 	 I-wys ryght all bare:’
 	 And all that fell in Robyns lote,
 	 He smote them wonder sare.
 117A.401	Twyse Robyn shot aboute,
 	 And euer he cleued the wande,
 	 And so dyde good Gylberte
 	 With the Whyt  Hande.
 117A.402	Lytell Johan and good Scathelocke,
 	 For nothynge wolde they spare;
 	 When they fayled of the garlonde,
 	 Robyn smote them full sore.
 117A.403	At the last shot that Robyn shot,
 	 For all his frend s fare,
 	 Yet he fayled of the garlonde
 	 Thre fyngers and mare.
 117A.404	Than bespake good Gylberte,
 	 And thus he gan say;
 	 ‘Mayster,’ he sayd, ’your takyll is lost,
 	 Stande forth and take your pay.’
 117A.405	‘If it be so,’ sayd Robyn,
 	 ‘That may no better be,
 	 Syr abbot, I delyuer the myn arowe,
 	 I pray the, syr, serue thou me.’
 117A.406	‘It falleth not for myn ordre,’ sayd our kynge,
 	 ‘Robyn, by thy leue,
 	 For to smyte no good yeman,
 	 For doute I sholde hym greue.’
 117A.407	‘Smyte on boldely,’ sayd Robyn,
 	 ‘I giue the larg  leue:’
 	 Anone our kynge, with that worde,
 	 He folde vp his sleue,
 117A.408	And sych a buffet he gaue Robyn,
 	 To grounde he yede full nere:
 	 ‘I make myn avowe to God,’ sayd Robyn,
 	 ‘Thou arte a stalworthe frere.
 117A.409	‘There is pith in thyn arme,’ sayd Robyn,
 	 ‘I trowe thou canst well shete:’
 	 Thus our kynge and Robyn Hode
 	 Togeder gan they mete.
 117A.410	Robyn beheld our comly kynge
 	 Wystly in the face,
 	 So dyde Syr Rycharde at the Le,
 	 And kneled downe in that place.
 117A.411	And so dyde all the wylde outlawes,
 	 Whan they se them knele:
 	 ‘My lorde the kynge of Englonde,
 	 Now I knowe you well.
 117A.412	‘Mercy then, Robyn,’ sayd our kynge,
 	 ‘Vnder your trystyll-tre,
 	 Of thy goodnesse and thy grace,
 	 For my men and me!’
 117A.413	‘Yes, for God,’ sayd Robyn,
 	 ‘And also God me saue,
 	 I ask  mersy, my lorde the kynge,
 	 And for my men I craue.’
 117A.414	‘Yes, for God,’ than sayd our kynge,
 	 ‘And therto sent I me,
 	 With that thou leue the gren  wode,
 	 And all thy company;
 117A.415	‘And come home, syr, to my courte,
 	 And there dwell with me.’
 	 ‘I make myn avowe to God,’ sayd Robyn,
 	 ‘And ryght so shall it be.
 117A.416	‘I wyll come to your courte,
 	 Your seruyse for to se,
 	 And brynge with me of my men
 	 Seuen score and thre.
 117A.417	‘But me lyk  well your seruyse,
 	 I [wyll] come agayne full soone,
 	 And shote at the donn  dere,
 	 As I am wonte to done.’
 117A.418	‘Haste thou ony gren  cloth,’ sayd our kynge,
 	 ‘That thou wylte sell nowe to me?’
 	 ‘Ye, for God,’ sayd Robyn,
 	 ‘Thyrty yerd s and thre.’
 117A.419	‘Robyn,’ sayd our kynge,
 	 ‘Now pray I the,
 	 Sell me some of that cloth,
 	 To me and my meyn .’
 117A.420	‘Yes, for God,’ then sayd Robyn,
 	 ‘Or elles I were a fole;
 	 Another day ye wyll me clothe,
 	 I trowe, ayenst the Yole.’
 117A.421	The kynge kest of his col  then,
 	 A grene garment he dyde on,
 	 And euery knyght also, i-wys,
 	 Another had full sone.
 117A.422	Whan they were clothed in Lyncolne grene,
 	 They keste away theyr graye;
 	 ‘Now we shall to Notyngham,’
 	 All thus our kynge gan say.
 117A.423	They bente theyr bowes, and forth they went,
 	 Shotynge all in-fere,
 	 Towarde the towne of Notyngham,
 	 Outlawes as they were.
 117A.424	Our kynge and Robyn rode togyder,
 	 For soth as I you say,
 	 And they shote plucke-buffet,
 	 As they went by the way.
 117A.425	And many a buffet our kynge wan
 	 Of Robyn Hode that day,
 	 And nothynge spared good Robyn
 	 Our kynge in his pay.
 117A.426	‘So God me help ,’ sayd our kynge,
 	 ‘Thy game is nought to lere;
 	 I sholde not get a shote of the,
 	 Though I shote all this yere.’
 117A.427	All the people of Notyngham
 	 They stode and behelde;
 	 They sawe nothynge but mantels of grene
 	 That couered all the felde.
 117A.428	Than euery man to other gan say,
 	 I drede our kynge be slone;
 	 Com  Robyn Hode to the towne, i-wys
 	 On lyue he lefte neuer one.’
 117A.429	Full hast[ ]ly they began to fle,
 	 Both yemen and knaues,
 	 And olde wyues that myght euyll goo,
 	 They hypped on theyr staues.
 117A.430	The kynge l[o]ughe full fast,
 	 And commaunded them agayne;
 	 When they se our comly kynge,
 	 I-wys they were full fayne.
 117A.431	They ete and dranke, and made them glad,
 	 And sange with not s hye;
 	 Than bespake our comly kynge
 	 To Syr Rycharde at the Lee.
 117A.432	He gaue hym there his londe agayne,
 	 A good man he bad hym be;
 	 Robyn thanked our comly kynge,
 	 And set hym on his kne.
 117A.433	Had robyn dwelled in the kyng s courte
 	 But twelue monethes and thre,
 	 That [he had] spent an hondred pounde,
 	 And all his mennes fe.
 117A.434	In euery place where Robyn came
 	 Euer more he layde downe,
 	 Both for knyght s and for squyres,
 	 To gete hym grete renowne.
 117A.435	By than the yere was all agone
 	 He had no man but twayne,
 	 Lytell Johan and good Scathlocke,
 	 With hym all for to gone.
 117A.436	Robyn sawe yonge men shote
 	 Full fayre vpon a day;
 	 ‘Alas!’ than sayd good Robyn,
 	 ‘My welthe is went away.
 117A.437	‘Somtyme I was an archere good,
 	 A styffe and eke a stronge;
 	 I was compted the best archere
 	 That was in mery Englonde.
 117A.438	‘Alas!’ then sayd good Robyn,
 	 ‘Alas and well a woo!
 	 Yf I dwele lenger with the kynge,
 	 Sorowe wyll me sloo.’
 117A.439	Forth than went Robyn Hode
 	 Tyll he came to our kynge:
 	 ‘My lorde the kynge of Englonde,
 	 Graunte me myn askynge.
 117A.440	‘I made a chapell in Bernysdale,
 	 That semely is to se,
 	 It is of Mary Magdaleyne,
 	 And thereto wolde I be.
 117A.441	‘I myght neuer in this seuen nyght
 	 No tyme to slepe ne wynke,
 	 Nother all these seuen dayes
 	 Nother ete ne drynke.
 117A.442	‘Me longeth sore to Bernysdale,
 	 I may not be therfro;
 	 Barefote and wolwarde I haue hyght
 	 Thyder for to go.’
 117A.443	‘Yf it be so,’ than sayd our kynge,
 	 ‘It may no better be,
 	 Seuen nyght I gyue the leue,
 	 No lengre, to dwell fro me.’
 117A.444	‘Gramercy, lorde,’ then sayd Robyn,
 	 And set hym on his kne;
 	 He toke his leu  full courteysly.
 	 To gren  wode then went he.
 117A.445	Whan he came to gren  wode,
 	 In a mery mornynge,
 	 There he herde the not s small
 	 Of byrd s mery syngynge.
 117A.446	‘It is ferre gone,’ sayd Robyn,
 	 ‘That I was last here;
 	 Me lyste a lytell for to shote
 	 At the donn  dere.’
 117A.447	Robyn slewe a full grete harte;
 	 His horne than gan he blow,
 	 That all the outlawes of that forest
 	 That horne coud they knowe,
 117A.448	And gadred them togyder,
 	 In a lytell throwe.
 	 Seuen score of wyght yonge men
 	 Came redy on a rowe,
 117A.449	And fayre dyde of theyr hodes,
 	 And set them on theyr kne:
 	 ‘Welcome,’ they sayd, ’our [der ] mayster,
 	 Under this gren -wode tre.
 117A.450	Robyn dwelled in gren  wode
 	 Twenty yere and two;
 	 For all drede of Edwarde our kynge,
 	 Agayne wolde he not goo.
 117A.451	Yet he was begyled, i-wys,
 	 Through a wycked woman,
 	 The pryoresse of Kyrk sly,
 	 That nye was of hys kynne:
 117A.452	For the loue of a knyght,
 	 Syr Roger of Donkesly,
 	 That was her own  speciall;
 	 Full euyll mot  they the!
 117A.453	They toke togyder theyr counsell
 	 Robyn Hode for to sle,
 	 And how they myght best do that dede,
 	 His banis for to be.
 117A.454	Than bespake good Robyn,
 	 In place where as he stode,
 	 ‘To morow I muste to Kyrke[s]ly,
 	 Craftely to be leten blode.’
 117A.455	Syr Roger of Donkestere,
 	 By the pryoresse he lay,
 	 And there they betrayed good Robyn Hode,
 	 Through theyr fals  playe.
 117A.456	Cryst haue mercy on his soule,
 	 That dyed on the rode!
 	 For he was a good outlawe,
 	 And dyde pore men moch god.

Next: 118. Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne