p. 123¶' Nay , I have been in Carlisle town,Where Sir Robert Bewick there met me;He said thou was bad, and calld thee a lad,And a baffled man by thou I be.
¶' H e said thou was bad, and calld thee a lad,And bully to his son cannot be;For his son Bewick can both write and read,And sure I am that cannot thee.
¶'I put thee to school, but thou would not learn,I bought thee books, but thou would not read;But my blessing thou's never haveTill I see with Bewick thou can save thy head.'
¶' O , pray forbear, my father dear;That ever such a thing should be!Shall I venture my body in field to fightWith a man that's faith and troth to me ? '
¶'What's that thou sayst, thou limmer loon ?1Or how dare thou stand to speak to me?If thou do not end this quarrel soon,Here is my glove thou shalt fight me.'
¶Christy stoopd low unto the ground,Unto the ground, as you'll understand:' O father, put on your glove again,The wind hath blown it from your hand.'
¶'What's that thou sayst, thou limmer loon ?Or how dare thou stand to speak to me?If thou do not end this quarrel soon,Here is my hand thou shalt fight me.'[124]Christy Grahame is to his chamber gone,And for to study, as well might be,Whether to fight with his father dear,Or with his bully Bewick he.
p. 124¶'If it be my fortune my bully to kill,As you shall boldly understand,In every town that I ride through,They'll say, There rides a brotherless man !
¶' Nay , for to kill my bully dear,I think it will be a deadly sin;And for to kill my father dear,The blessing of heaven I ne'er shall win.
¶' O give me my blessing, father,' he said,' And pray well for me for to thrive;If it be my fortune my bully to kill,I swear I'll neer come home alive.'
¶He put on his back a good plate-jack,And on his head a cap of steel,With sword and buckler by his side;0 g in 4 he did not become them weel!
¶' O fare thee well, my father dear!And fare thee well, thou Carlisle town!If it be my fortune my bully to kill,I swear I'll neer eat bread again.'
¶Now we'll leave talking of Christy Grahame,And talk of him again belive; 5But we will talk of bonny Bewick,Where he was teaching his scholars five.
¶Now when he had learnd them well to fence,To handle their swords without any doubt,He's taken his own sword under his arm,And walk d his father's close about.<If. 5 Soon.[125]He lookd between him and the sun,To see what farleys 6 he could see;There he spy'd a man with armour on,As he came riding over the lee.
¶'I wonder much what man yon beThat so boldly this way does come;I think it is my nighest friend,I think it is my bully Grahame.
¶' O welcome, O welcome, bully Grahame !O man, thou art my dear, welcome!0 man, thou art my dear, welcome!For I love thee best in Christendom.'
¶' Away , away, O bully Bewick,And of thy bully ship let me be!The day is come I never thought on;Bully, I'm come here to fight with thee.'
¶' O no! not so, O bully Grahame !That eer such a word should spoken be!I was thy master, thou was my scholar:So well as I have learned thee.'
¶' M y father he was in Carlisle town,Where thy father Bewick there met he;He said I was bad, and he calld me a lad,And a baffled man by thou I be.'
¶' Away , away, O bully Grahame ,And of all that talk, man, let us be!We'll take three men of either sideTo see if we can our fathers agree.'
¶' Away , away, O bully Bewick,And of thy bully ship let me be!But if thou be a man, as I trow thou art,Come over this ditch and fight with me.'* Wonders.[126]' O no, not so, my bully Grahame !That eer such a word should spoken be!Shall I venture my body in field to fightWith a man that's faith and troth to me ? '
¶' Away , away, O bully Bewick,And of all that care, man, let us be!If thou be a man, as I trow thou art,Come over this ditch and fight with me.'
¶' Now , if it be my fortune thee, Grahame, to kill,As God's will, man, it all must be;But if it be my fortune thee, Grahame, to kill,'Tis home again I'll never gae.'
¶' Thou art of my mind, then, bully Bewick,And sworn-brethren will we be:If thou be a man, as I trow thou art,Come over this ditch and fight with me.'
¶He flang his cloak from off his shoulders,His psalm-book out of his hand flung he,He clapd his hand upon the hedge,And oer lap1 he right wantonly.
¶When Grahame did see his bully come,The salt tear stood long in his eye:' Now needs must I say that thou art a man,That dare venture thy body to fight with me.
¶' Now I have a harness on my back;I know that thou hath none on thine;But as little as thou hath on thy back,Sure as little shall there be on mine.'
¶He flang his jack from off his back,His steel cap from his head flang he;He's taken his sword into his hand,He's tyed his horse unto a tree.[127]Now they fell to it with two broad swords,For two long hours fought Bewick and he;Much sweat was to be seen on them both,But never a drop of blood to see.
p. 127¶Now Grahame gave Bewick an ackward stroke,An ackward stroke surely struck he;He struck him now under the left breast.Then down to the ground as dead fell he.
¶'Arise, arise, O bully Bewick,Arise, and speak three words to me!Whether this be thy deadly wound.Or God and good surgeons will mend thee.'
¶'O horse, O horse, O bully Grahame,And pray do get thee far from me!Thy sword is sharp, it hath wounded my heart,And so no further can I gae.
¶'O horse, O horse, O bully Grahame,And get thee far from me with speed!And get thee out of this country quite!That none may know who's done the deed.'
¶'O if this be true, my bully dear.The words that thou dost tell to me.The vow I made, and the vow I'll keep,I swear I'll be the first to die.'
¶Then he stuck his sword in a moudie-hill,'Where he lap thirty good foot and three;First he bequeathed his soul to God,And upon his own sword-point lap he.
¶Now Grahame he was the first that died.And then came Robin Bewick to see;'Arise, arise, O son,' he said,'For I see thou's won the victory.« Mole-hill.[128]'Arise, arise, O son,' he said,'For I see thou's won the victory;''Father, could ye not drunk your wine at home,And letten me and my brother be?
¶'Nay, dig a grave both low and wide.And in it us two pray bury;But bury my bully Grahame on the sun-side,For I'm sure he's won the victory.'
¶Now we'll leave talking of these two brethren.In Carlisle town where they lie slain.And talk of these two good old men.Where they were making a pitiful moan.
¶With that bespoke now Robin Bewick:'O man was I not much to blame?I have lost one of the liveliest ladsThat ever was bred unto my name.'
¶With that bespoke my good lord Grahame:'O man, I have lost the better block;I have lost my comfort and my joy,I have lost my key, I have lost my lock.
¶'Had I gone through all Ladderdale,And forty horse had set on me,Had Christy Grahame been at my back,So well as he would guarded me.'
¶I have no more of my song to sing,But two or three words to you I'll name;But 'twill be talked in Carlisle townThat these two old men were all the blame.
¶A Gest of Robyn Hodec. 15th centuryLythe' and listin, gentilmen.That be of frebore^ blode;1 Listen. ^ Freeborn.[129]I shall you tel of a gode yeman,His name was Robyn Hode.
¶Robyn was a prude' outlaw,Whyles he walked on grounde;So curteyse an outlaw as he was oneWas never non yfounde.''
¶And alsoo dyd gode Scarlok,And Much, the miller's son;There was none ynch of his bodiBut it was worth a grome.^
¶Than bespake Lytell JohnnAll untoo Robyn Hode:Maister, and* ye wolde dyne betymeIt wolde doo you moche gode.
¶Than bespake hym gode Robyn:To dyne have I noo lust,Till that I have som bolde baronOr som unkouth' gest.
¶A gode maner than had Robyn;In londe where that he were,Every day or he wold dyneThre messis wolde he here.
¶The one in the worship of the Fader,And another of the Holy Cost,' Proud. * Found. ^ Worthy of a man. ^ If. ' Strange.[130]The thirde was of Our dere LadyThat he loved allther1 moste.
¶Robyn loved Oure dere Lady;For dout' of dydly synne,Wolde he never do compani harmeThat any woman was in.
¶'Maistar,' than sayde Lytil Johnn,'And we our borde shal sprede,Tell us wheder that we shall goAnd what life that we shall lede.
¶'Where we shall take, where we shall leve,Where we shall abide behynde;Where we shall robbe, where we shall reve,Where we shall bete and bynde.'
¶'Thereof no force,'" than sayde Robyn;'We shall do well inowe;"But loke ye do no husbonde harmeThat tilleth with his ploughe.
¶'No more ye shall no gode yemanThat walketh by grene-wode shawe;Ne no knyght ne no squyerThat wol be a gode felawe.
¶'These bisshoppes and these archebishoppes,Ye shall them bete and bynde;The hye sherif of Notyngham,Hym holde ye in your mynde.'
¶'This worde shalbe holde,' sayde Lytell Johnn,'And this lesson we shall lere;It is fer dayes;" God sende us a gest,That we were at our dynere.'
¶'Take thy gode bowe in thy honde,' sayde Robyn;'Late" Much wende with the;[131]And so shal Willyam Scarlok,And no man abyde with me.
p. 131¶'And walke up to the SayUsAnd so to Watlinge Strete,And wayte after some unkuth gest,Up chaunce ye may them mete.
¶'Be he erle, or ani baron,Abbot, or ani knyght,Bringhe hym to lodge to me;His dyner shall be dight.' '*
¶They wente up to the Saylis,These yemen all three;They loked est, they loked weest,They myght no man see.
¶But as they loked in to Bernysdale,Bi a derne'^ strete.Than came a knyght ridinghe;Full sone they gan hym mete.
¶All dreri was his semblaunce,And lytell was his pryde;His one fote in the styrop stode,That othere wavyd beside.
¶His hode hanged in his iyn'° two;He rode in symple aray;A soriar man than he was oneRode never in somer day.
¶Litell Johnn was full curteyes,And sette hym on his kne:'Welcom be ye, gentyll knyght,Welcom ar ye to me.
¶'Welcom be thou to grene wode,Hende" knyght and fre;"Prepared. "Secret. "Eyes. "Gentle.[132]My maister hath abiden you fastinge,Syr, al these oures thre.'
¶' Who is thy maister?' sayde the knyght;Johnn sayde, 'Robyn Hode';'He is a gode yoman,' sayde the knyght,'Of h y m I have herde moche gode.
¶'I graunte,' he sayde, 'with you to wende,My bretherne, all in fere; 1 8My purpos was to have dyned to dayAt Blith or Dancastere.'
¶Furth than went this gentyl knight,With a carefull chere;The teris oute of his iyen ran,And fell downe by his lere. 1 9
¶They brought him to the lodge-dore;Whan Robyn gan h y m see,Full curtesly dyd of his hodeAnd sette h y m on his knee.
¶'Welcome, sir knight,' than sayde Robyn,'Welcome art thou to me;I have abyden you fastinge, sir,All these ouris thre.'
¶Than answered the gentyll knight,With wordes fay re and fre:'God the save, goode Robyn,And all thy fayre meyne . ' 2 0
¶They wasshed togeder and wyped bothe,And sette to theyr dynere;Brede and wyne they had right ynoughe,And noumbles 2 1 of the dere.
¶Swannes and fessauntes 2 2 they had full gode,And foules of the ryvere;"Together. 19Cheek. 20Retinue. 2 1 Entrails. 2 2 Pheasants.[133]There fayled none so litell a birdeThat ever was bred on bryre.
¶'Do gladly, sir knight,' sayde Robyn;'Gramarcy, sir,' sayde he;'Suche a dinere had I natOf all these wekys thre.
¶'If I come ageyne, Robyn,Here by thys contre,As gode a dyner I shall the makeAs thou haest made to me.'
¶'Gramarcy, knyght,' sayde Robyn;'My dyner whan I have,I was never so gredy, by dere worthi God,My dyner for to crave.
¶'But pay or ye wende,' sayde Robyn;'Me thynketh it is gode ryght;It was never the maner, by dere worthi God,A yoman to pay for a knyght.'
¶'I have nought in my coffers,' saide the knyght,'That I may prefer for shame':'Litell John, go loke,' sayde Robyn,'Ne lat not for no blame.
¶'Tel me truth,' than saide Robyn,'So God have parte of the':'I have no more but ten shelynges,' sayde theknyght,'So God have parte of me.'
¶'If thou have no more,' sayde Robyn,'I woU nat one peny;And yf thou have nede of any more,More shall I lend the.
¶'Go nowe furth, Litell Johnn,The truth tell thou me:[134]If there be no more but ten shelinges,No peny that I se.'
¶Lyttell Johnn sprede downe hys mantellFull fayre upon the grounde,And there he fonde in the knyghtes coferBut even halfe a pounde.
¶Littell Johnn let it lye full styll,And went to hys maysteer full lowe;' What tydynges, Johnn?' sayde Robyn;'Sir, the knyght is true inowe.'
¶'Fyll of the best wine,' sayde Robyn,'The knyght shall begynne;Moche wonder thinketh meThy clothynge is so thinne.
¶'Tell me one worde,' sayde Robyn,' And counsel shal it be;I trowe thou wert made a knyght of force,Or ellys of yemanry.
¶' O r ellys thou hast been a sori husbande, 2 3And lyved in stroke and strife;An okerer, 2 4 or ellis a lechoure,' sayde Robyn,' W yth wronge hast led thy lyfe.'
¶'I am none of those,' sayde the knyght,'By God that made me;An hundred wynter here beforeMy n auncetres knyghtes have be.
¶'But oft it hath befal, Robyn,A man hath be disgrate; 2 5But God that sitteth in heven aboveMay amende his state.
¶' With y n this two yere, Robyne,' he sayde,' M y neghbours well it knowe,Manager. 2 4 Usurer. 2 5 Fallen in fortune.[135]Foure hundred pounde of gode moneyFul well than myght I spende.
¶'Nowe have I no gode,' saide the knyght,'God hath shapen such an ende,But my chyldren and my wyfe,Tyll God yt may amende.'
¶'In what maner,' than sayde Robyn,'Hast thou lorne^^ thy rychesse?*'For my greate foly,' he sayde,'And for my kyndenesse.
¶'I had a sone, forsoth, Robyn,That shulde have ben myn ayre,Whanne he was twenty wynterolde.In felde wolde just full fayre.
¶'He slewe a knyght of Lancashire,And a squyer bolde;For to save him in his ryghtMy godes beth sette and solde.
¶'My londes beth sette to wedde," Robyn,Untyll a certayn day.To a ryche abbot here besydeOf Seynt Mari Abbey.'
¶'What is the som?' sayde Robyn;'Trouth than tell thou me';'Sir,' he sayde, 'foure hundred pounde;The abbot told it to me.'
¶'Nowe and thou lese^' thy lond,' sayde Robyn,'What shall fall of the?''Hastely I wol me buske^' [sayd the knyght]Over the salte see,
¶'And se where Criste was quyke and dede.On the mount of Calvere;^ Lost. ^' Pledge. ^ Lose. *' Get ready to go.[136]Fare wel, frende, and have gode day;It may not better be.'
¶Teris fell out of hys eyen two;He wolde have gone hys way;'Farewel, frendes, and have gode day,I have no more to pay.'
¶'Where be thy frendes?' sayde Robyn:'Syr, never one wol me knowe;While I was ryche ynowe at homeGreat boste than wolde they blowe.
¶' And nowe they renne away fro me,As bestis on a rowe;They take no more hede of meThanne they me never sawe.'
¶For ruthe thanne wept Litell Johnn,Scarlok and Much in fere;'Fyl of the best wyne,' sayde Robyn,'For here is a symple chere. 3 0
¶'Hast thou any frends,' sayde Robyn,' Thy borowes 3 1 that wyll be?''I have none,' than sayde the knyght,'But God that dyed on tree.'
¶' D o away thy j apis , ' 3 2 sayde Robyn,'Thereof wol I right none;Wenest thou I wolde have God to borowe,Peter, Poule, or Johnn?
¶'Nay, by h y m that made me,And shope 3 3 both sonne and mone,Fynde me a better borowe,' sayde Robyn,'Or money getest thou none.'
¶'I have none other,' sayde the knyght,'The sothe for to say,Entertainment. 3 1 Securities. 3 2 Jests. 3 3 Created.[137]But yf yt be Our dere Lady;She fayled me never or thys day.'
¶'By dere worthy God,' sayde Robyn,'To seche all Englonde thorowe.Yet fonde I never to my pay^''A moche better borowe.
¶'Come nowe furth, Litell Johnn,And go to my tresoure,And bringe me foure hundered pound,And loke vi^ell tolde it be.'
¶Furth than went Litell Johnn,And Scarlok went before;He told oute four hundred poundeBy eight and twenty score.
¶'Is thys well tolde?' sayde litell Much;Johnn sayde: 'What greveth the?It is almus'^ to helpe a gentyll knyghtThat is fal in poverte.
¶'Master,' than sayde Lityll John,'His clothinge is full thynne;Ye must gyve the knight a lyveray.To lappa his body therein.
¶'For ye have scarlet and grene, mayster.And many a riche aray;Ther is no marchaunt in mery EnglondSo ryche, I dare well say.'
¶'Take hym thre yerdes of every colour,And loke well mete^^ that it be';Lytell Johnn toke none other mesureBut his bowe-tree.
¶And at every handfull that he metHe lept over fotes three;^ Satisfaction. '^ Alms. ^^ Measured.[138]'What devylles drapar,' sayd litell Much,'Thynkest thou for to be?'
¶Scarlok stode full stil and loughe,And sayd, 'By God Almyght,Johnn may gyve hym gode mesure,For it costeth hym but lyght.'
¶'Mayster,' than said Litell JohnnAll unto Robyn Hode,'Ye must give the knight a hersTo lede home al this gode.'
¶'Take him a gray coursar,' sayde Robyn,'And a saydle nevve;He is Oure Ladye's messangere;God graunt that he be true.'
¶'And a gode palfray,' sayde lytell Much,'To mayntene hym in his right';'And a peyre of botes,' sayde Scarlok,'For he is a gentyll knight.'
¶'What shalt thou gyve hym, Litell John?' [saidRobyn;]'Sir, a peyre of gilt sporis clene,To pray for all this company;God bringe hym oute of tene.' ^'
¶'Whan shal mi day be,' said the knight,'Sir, and your wyll be?''This day twelve moneth,' saide Robyn,'Under this grene-wode tre.
¶'It were greate shame,' sayde Robyn,'A knight alone to ryde,Withoute squyre, yoman, or page,To walke by his syde.'' Sorrow.[139]'I shal the lende Litell Johnn, my man.For he shalbe thy knave;'"In a yeman's stede he may the stande,If thou greate nede have.'
¶The Second Fytte
¶Now is the knight gone on his way;This game hym thought full gode;Whanne he loked on BernesdaleHe blessyd Robyn Hode.
¶And whanne he thought on Bernysdale,On Scarlok, Much and Johnn,He blessyd them for the best companyThat ever he in come.
¶Than spake that gentyll knyght.To Lytel Johan gan he saye,'To-morrowe I must to Yorke touneTo Saynt Mary abbay.
¶'And to the abbot of that placeFoure hundred pounde I must pay;And but I be there upon this nyghtMy londe is lost for ay.'
¶The abbot sayd to his covent.There he stode on grounde,'This day twelfe moneth came a knyghtAnd borowed foure hondred pounde.
¶['He borowed four hondred pounde]Upon his londe and fee;But he come this ylke' dayDisherited^ shall he be.'
¶'It is full erely,' sayd the pryoure.The day is not yet ferre gone;" Servant. ' Same. ^ Dispossessed.[140]I had lever 3 to pay an hondred pounde,And lay it downe anone.
¶The knyght is ferre beyonde the see,In Englonde is his ryght,And suffreth honger and coldeAnd many a sory nyght.
¶'It were grete pyte,' said the pryoure,'So to have his londe;And ye be so lyght of your consyence,Ye do to h y m moch wronge.'
¶"Thou arte ever in my berde,' 4 sayd the abbot,'By God and Saynt Rycharde';With that cam in a fat-heded monke,The heygh selerer. 5
¶'He is dede or hanged,' sayd the monke,'By God that bought me dere,And we shall have to spende in this placeFoure hondred pounde by yere.'
¶The abbot and the hy selererSterte forthe full bolde,The highe justyce of EnglondeThe abbot there dyde holde.
¶The hye justyce and many moHad taken into theyr hondeHoly 6 all the knyghtes det,To put that knyght to wronge.
¶They demed the knyght wonder sore,The abbot and his meyne'But 7 he come this ylke dayDisherited shall he be.'[141]'He wyll not come yet,' sayd the justyce,'I dare well undertake';But in sorowe tyme for them allThe knyght came to the gate.
p. 141¶Than bespake that gentyll knyghtUntyll his meyne:'Now put on your symple wedes'That ye brought fro the see.'
¶[They put on their symple wedes,]They came to the gates anone;The porter was redy hymselfeAnd welcomed them everychone.
¶'Welcome, syr knyght,' sayd the porter,'My lorde to mete is he,And so is many a gentyll man.For the love of the.'
¶The porter swore a full grete othe:'By God that made me.Here be the best coresed" horsThat ever yet sawe I me.
¶'Lede them 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.'
¶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,'I am come to holde my day':The fyrst word that the abbot spake,'Hast thou brought my pay?''Pl<un clothes. 'Harnessed (?), or conditioned (?). '"Set at meat[142]'Not one peny,' sayd the knyght,'By God that maked me';' Thou art a shrewed 1 1 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 sayed the knyght,' T o pray of a lenger daye.'
¶' Thy daye is broke,' sayd the justyce,'Londe gettest thou none':' Now , good syr justyce, be my frendeAnd fende me of my f one ! ' 1 2
¶'I am holde with the abbot,' sayd the justyce,'Both with cloth and fee':' Now , good syr sheryf, be my frende!''Nay, for God , ' sayd he.
¶' Now , good syr abbot, be my frende,For thy curteyse,And holde my londes in thy hondeT y l l I have made the gree! 1 3
¶' And I wyll be thy true servaunte,And trewely serve the,T y l lye have foure hondred poundeOf money good and free.'
¶The abbot sware a full grete othe,'By God that dyed on a tree,Get thy londe where thou may,For thou getest none of me.'
¶'By dere worthy God , ' then sayd the knyght,' That all this worlde wrought,But I have my londe agayne,Full dere it shall be bought.1 1 Cursed. 1 2 Defend me from my foes. " Satisfaction.[143]'God, that was of a mayden borne,Leve us well to spedelFor it is good to assay a frendeOr" that a man have nede.'
¶The abbot lothely on hym gan loke,And vylaynesly hym gan call;'Out,' he sayd, 'thou false knyght,Spede the out of my hall!'
¶'Thou lyest,' then sayd the gentyll knyght,'Abbot, in thy hal;False knyght was I never,By God that made us all.'
¶Up then stode that gentyll knyght.To the abbot sayd he,'To suffre a knyght to knele so longe,Thou canst no curteysye.
¶'In joustes and in tournamentsFull ferre than have I be.And put myself as ferre in prees"As ony that ever I see.'
¶'What wyll ye gyve more,' sayd the justyce,'And the knyght shall make a releyse.?And elles dare I safly swereYe holde never your londe in pees.'
¶'An hondred pounde,' sayd the abbot;The justice sayd, 'Gyve hym two';'Nay, be God,' sayd the knyght,'Ye get not my land so.
¶'Though ye wolde gyve a thousand more,Yet were ye never the nere;Shal there never be myn heyreAbbot, justice ne frere.'" Before. '^ The thick of the fight.[144]He stert'* hym to a borde anone,Tyll a table rounde,And there he shoke oute of a baggeEven four hundred pound.
¶'Have here thi golde, sir abbot,' saide the knight,'Which that thou lentest me;Had thou ben curtes at my comynge,I would have rewarded thee.'
¶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.
¶'Take" me my golde agayne,' saide the abbot,'Sir justice, that I toke the.''Not a peni,' said the justice,'Bi God, that dyed on tree.'
¶'Sir abbot, and ye men of lawe.Now have I holde my daye;Now shall I have my londe agayne.For ought that you can saye.'
¶The knyght stert out of the dore,Awaye was all his care,And on he put his good clothyngeThe other he lefte there.
¶He wente hym forth full mery syngynge.As men have told in tale;His lady met hym at the gate.At home in Verysdale.
¶'Welcome, my lorde,' sayd his lady;'Syr, lost is all your good?''Be mery, dame,' sayd the knyght,'And pray for Robyn Hode,''Turned quickly. ''Give.[145]'That ever his soule be in blysse:He holpe me out of tene;Ne had be" his kyndenesse,Beggers had we bene.
¶'The abbot and I accorded ben,He is served of his pay;The god yoman lent it meAs I cam by the way.'
¶This knight than dwelled fayre at home,The sothe for to saye,Tyll he had got four hundred pound,Al redy for to pay.
¶He purveyed him an hundred bowes.The strynges well ydyght,An hundred shefe of arowes gode,The hedys burneshed full bryght;
¶And every arowe an elle longe.With pecok well idyght,Inocked^' all with whyte silver;It was a semely syght.
¶He purveyed him an hondreth men.Well harnessed in that stede.And hym selfe in that same suite,And clothed in whyte and rede.
¶He bare a launsgay^" in his honde,And a man ledde his male,^'And reden with a lyght songeUnto Bernysdale.
¶[But at Wentbrydge] there was a wrastelyng,And there taryed was he,And there was all the best yemenOf all the west countree." If it had not been. " Notched. ^^ Spear. 2' Pack, baggage.[146]A full fayre game there was up set,A whyte buUe up i-pyght/^A grete courser, with sadle and brydil,With golde burnyssht full bryght.
¶A payre of gloves, a rede golde rynge,A pype of wyne, in fay;'''What man that bereth hym best i-wys**The pryce shall here away.
¶There was a yoman in that place,And best worthy was he,And for he was ferre and frembde bested,^*Slayne he shulde have be.
¶The knight had ruthe of this yoman.In place where that he stode;He sayde that yoman shulde have no harme,For love of Robyn Hode.
¶The knyght pressed in to the place,An hundreth folowed hym free.With bowes bent and arowes sharpe,For to shende''^ that companye.
¶They shulderd all and made hym rome,To wete^' what he wolde say;He toke the yeman bi the hande.And gave hym al the play.
¶He gave hym five marke for his wyne,There it lay on the molde,^*And bad it shulde be set a broche,^'Drynke who so wolde.
¶Thus longe taried this gentyll knyght,Tyll that play was done;So longe abode Robyn fastingeThre houres after the none.
¶22Pitched, set up as a prize. "In faith. "Certainly. "Because he wasfar from home and situated as a stranger. ^8 Punish. ^7 Know. ^8 Ground.'^ Tapped and left running.[147]The Thirde Fytte
¶Lyth and lystyn, gentilmen,All that nowe be here;Of Litell Johnn, that was the knightes man,Goode myrth ye shall here.
¶It was upon a mery dayThat yonge men wolde go shete;Lytell Johnn fet his bowe anone,And sayde he wolde them mete.
¶Thre tymes Litell Johnn shet aboute,And alway cleft the wande;The proude sherif of NotinghamBy the markes gan stande.
¶The sherif swore a full greate othe:By hym that dyede on a tre,This man is the best arschereThat ever I dyd see.
¶'Say me nowe, wight yonge man.What is nowe thy name?In what countre were thou borne.And where is thy wonynge wane?' *
¶'In Holdernes, sir, I was borne,I-wys al of my dame;Men cal me Reynolde GrenelefWhan I am at home.'
¶'Sey me, Reynolde Grenelefe,Wolde thou dwell with me?And every yere I woll the gyveTwenty marke to thy fee.'
¶'I have a maister,' sayde Litell Johnn,'A curteys knight is he;' Dwelling place.[148]May ye leve gete of hym,The better may it be.'
¶The sherif gate Litell JohnTwelve moneths of the knight;Therefore he gave him right anoneA gode hors and a wight . 2
¶Now e is Litell John the sherifes man,God lende us well to spede!But alwey thought Lytell JohnTo quyte h y m wele his mede. 3
¶' Now e so God me helpe,' sayde Litell John,' And by my true leutye, 4I shall be the worst servaunt to h y mThat ever yet had he.'
¶It fell upon a WednesdayThe sherif on huntynge was gone,And Litel John lay in his bed,And was foriete 5 at home.
¶Therfore he was fastingeT i l it was past the none;'Gode sir stuarde, I pray to the,Gyve me my dynere,' saide Litell John.
¶'It is to longe for GrenelefeFastinge thus for to be;Therfor I pray the, sir stuarde,M i dyner gif thou me.'
¶'Shalt thou never ete ne drynke,' saide the stuarde,'Tyll my lorde be come to towne':'I make my n avowe to God , ' saide Litell John,'I had lever to crake thy crowne.'
¶The boteler was full uncurteys,There he stode on flore;[149]He start to the boteryAnd shet fast the dore.
p. 149¶Lytell Johnn gave the boteler suche a tapHis backe went nere in two;Though he liveth an hundred wynter,The wors he still shall goe.
¶He sporned the dore with his fote;It went open wel and fyne;And there he made large lyveray, 6Bothe of ale and of wyne .
¶'Sith ye wol nat dyne,' sayde Litell John,'I shall gyve you to drinke;And though ye lyve an hundred wynter,On Lytel Johnn ye shall thinke.'
¶Litell John ete, and Litel John drank,The while that he wolde;The sherife had in his kechyn a coke,A stoute man and a bolde.
¶'I make my n avowe to God , ' saide the coke,' Thou arte a shrewde hyne 7In ani householde for to dwel,For to aske thus to dyne.'
¶And there he lent Litell JohnGod e strokis thre;'I make my n avowe,' sayde Lytell John,'These strokis lyked well me.
¶' Thou arte a bolde man and a hardy,And so thinketh me;And or I pas fro this place •Assayed better shalt thou be.'
¶Lytell Johnn drew a ful gode sworde,The coke toke another in hande;[150]They thought no thynge for to fle,But stifly for to stande.
p. 150¶There they faught sore togedereTwo myle way* and more;Myght neyther other harme done,The mountnaunce of an owre.'
¶'I make myn avowe to God,' sayde Litell Johnn,'And by my true lewte;Thou art one of the best sworde-menThat ever yit sawe I me.
¶'Cowdest thou shote as well in a bowe.To grene wode thou shuldest with me,And two times in the yere thy clothingeChaunged shulde be;
¶'And every yere of Robyn HodeTwenty merke to thy fe;''Put up thy swerde,' saide the coke'And felowes woU we be.'
¶Thanne he fet to Lytell JohnnThe nowmbles of a do,Gode brede and full gode wyne;They ete and drank theretoo.
¶And when they had dronkyn well,Theyre trouthes togeder they plightThat they wolde by with RobynThat ylke same'" nyght.
¶They dyd them" to the tresoure-hows.As fast as they myght gone;The lokkes, that were of full gode stele,They brake them everichone.
¶' As long as it would take to go two miles. ' The length of an hour. "* Verysame. '' Went.[151]They toke away the silver vessell,And all that thei might get;Pecis,'^ masars," ne sponis,Wolde thei not forget.
¶Also they toke the gode pens,Thre hundred pounde and more,And did them streyte to Robyn Hode,Under the grene wode hore.
¶'God the save, my dere mayster.And Crista the save and se!'And thanne sayde Robyn to Litell Johnn'Welcome myght thou be.
¶'Also be that fayre yemanThou bryngest there with the;What tydynges fro Notyngham?Lytill Johnn, tell thou me.'
¶'Well the gretith the proude sheryf.And sendeth the here by meHis cok and his silver vessell.And thre hundred pounde and thre.'
¶'I make myne avowe to God,' sayde Robyn,'And to the Trenyte,It was never by his gode wyllThis gode is come to me.'
¶Lytyll Johnn there hym bethoughtOn a shrewde wyle;"Fyve myle in the forest he ran,Hym happed all his wyll."
¶Than he met the proude sheref,Huntynge with houndes and home;Lytell Johnn coude'° of curtesye.And knelyd hym beforne.' Cups. " Bowls. " Wicked trick. '^ What he wished happened to him." Knew.[152]'God the save, my dere mayster,And Criste the save and se!''Reynolde Grenelefe,' sayde the shyref,'Where hast thou nowe be?'
¶'I have be in this forest;A fayre syght can I se;It was one of the fayrest syghtesThat ever yet sawe I me.
¶'Yonder I sawe a ryght fayre harte.His coloure is of grene;Seven score of dere upon a herdeBe with hym all bydene."
¶'Their tyndes" are so sharp, maister,Of sexty, and well mo,That I durst not shote for drede,Lest they wolde me slo."
¶'I make myn avowe to God,' sayde the shyref,'That syght wolde I fayne se':'Buske you thyderwarde, mi dere mayster,Anone, and wende with me.'
¶The sherif rode, and Litell JohnnOf fote he was full smerte,And whane they came before Robyn,'Lo, here is the mayster-herte.'
¶Still stode the proude sherief,A sory man was he;'Wo the worthe, Raynolde Grenelefe,Thou hast betrayed me.'
¶'I make myn avowe to God,' sayde Litell Johnn,'Mayster, ye be to blame;I was mysserved of my dynereWhen I was with you at home.'"At once. 18Tines. "Slay.[153]Sone he was to souper sette,And served with silver white,And when the sherif sawe his vessell.For sorowe he myght nat ete.
¶'Make glad chere,' sayde Robyn Hode,'Sherif, for charite,And for the love of Litill JohnnThy lyfe I graunt to the.'
¶Whan they had souped well,The day was al gone;Robyn commaunded Litell JohnnTo drawe of his hose and shone;
¶His kirtell, and his cote a pye,'"That was fured well and fineAnd toke hym a grene mantel.To lap his body therein.
¶Robyn commaundyd his wight yonge men.Under the grene wode tree.They shulde lye in that same suteThat the sherif myght them see.
¶All nyght lay the proude sherifIn his breche and in his schert;No wonder it was, in grene wode;Though his sydes gan to smerte.
¶'Make glad chere,' sayde Robyn Hode,'Sheref, for charite;For this is our ordre i-wysUnder the grene-wode tree.
¶'This is harder order,' sayde the sherief,'Than any ankir^' or frere;For all the golde in mery EnglondeI wolde nat longe dwell her.'^^ Short coat. 2' Anchorite, hermit.[154]'All this twelve monthes,' sayde Robin,' Thou shalt dwell with me;I shall the teche, proude sherif,A no u d a we for to be.'
¶' Or I here another nyght lye,' sayde the sherif,'Robyn, nowe pray I the,Smyte of mijn hede rather to-morowe,And I forgyve it the.
¶'Lat me go,' than sayde the sherif,'For saynte charite,And I woll be the best frendeThat ever yet had ye.'
¶' Thou shalt swere me an othe,' sayde Robyn,' On my bright bronde;Shalt thou never awayte me scathe 2 2By water ne by lande.
¶' And if thou fynde any of my men,By nyght or by day,Upon thyn othe thou shalt swereTo helpe them that thou may.'
¶Now e hathe the sherif sworne his othe,And home he began to gone;He was as full of grene wodeAs ever was he p e 2 3 of stone.
The Fourth Fytte
¶THE sherif dwelled in Noting ham ;He was fayne he was agone;And Robyn and his mery menWent to wode anone.
¶' Go we to dyner,' sayde Littell Johnn;Robyn Hode sayde, ' Nay ;2 2 Lie in wait to harm me. 2 3 Hip.
p. 155¶For I drede Our Lady be wroth with me,
¶For she sent me nat my pay.' 'Have no doute, maister,' sayde Litell Johnn;
¶'Yet is not the Sonne at rest; For I dare say, and savely swere,
¶The knight is true and truste.' 'Take thy bowe in thy hande,' sayde Robyn,
¶'Late Much wende with the, And so shal Wyllyam Scarlok,
¶And no man abyde with me. 'And walke up under the Sayles,
¶And to Watlynge-strete,
¶And wayte after some unketh gest;
¶Up-chaunce ye may them mete. 'Whether he be messengere,
¶Or a man that myrthes can.
¶Of my good he shall have some,
¶Yf he be a pore man.'
¶Forth then stert Lytel Johan,
¶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;
¶They loked est, they loked west.
¶They myght no man se.
¶But as they loked in Bernysdale,
¶By the hye waye,
¶Than were they ware of two blacke monkes,
¶Eche on a good palferay.
¶Then bespake Lytell Johan,
¶To Much he gan say,
¶' Grief and sorrow.
¶'Make glad chere,' sayd Lytell Johan,' And frese 3 our bowes of ewe,And loke your hertes be seker 4 and sad, 8Your strynges trusty and trewe.
¶' The monke hath two and fifty men,And seven somers 6 full stronge;There rydeth no bysshop in this londeSo ryally, I understond.
¶'Brethren,' sayd Lytell Johan,'Here are no more but we thre;But we brynge them to dyner,Our mayster dare we not se.
¶'Bende your bowes,' sayd Lytell Johan,'Make all yon prese 7 to stonde;The formost monke, his lyfe and his dethIs closed in my honde.
¶' Abyde , chorle 8 monke,' sayd Lytell Johan,' N o ferther that thou gone;Y f thou doost, by dere worthy God ,Thy deth is in my honde.
¶' And evyll thryfte 9 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;Lytell Johan sayd, Robyn Hode;'He is a stronge thefe,' sayd the monke,'Of h y m herd I never good.'[157]'Thou lyest,' than sayd Lytell Johan,'And that shall rewe the;He is a yeman of the forest.To dyne he hath bode'° the.'
p. 157¶Much was redy with a bolte,Redly and anone,He set" the monke to-fore the brest.To the grounde that he can gone.
¶Of two and fyfty wyght yonge yemenThere abode not one,Saf a lytell page and a grome,To lede the somers with Lytel Johan.
¶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 a downe his hode.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 sayd Lytell Johan:'Thereof no force,' sayd Robyn,'For curteysy can he none.
¶'How many men,' sayd Robyn,'Had this monke, Johan?''Fyfty and two whan that we met.But many of them be gone.'
¶'Let blowe a home,' sayd Robyn,'That felaushyp may us knowe';Seven score of wyght yemen,Came pryckynge on a rowe.""Invited. "Shot. '^Unwilling or willing. ''In spite of. **Spurringone behind another.[158]And everych of them a good mantellOf scarlet and of raye;'^All they came to good Robyn,To wyte'^ what he wolde say.
¶They made the monke to wasshe and wyp)e,And syt at his denere,Robyn Hode and Lytell JohanThey served him both in-fere."
¶'Do gladly, monke,' sayd Robyn.'Gramercy, syr,' sayd he.'Where is your abbay, whan ye are at home,And who is your avowe?' "
¶'Saynt Mary abbay,' sayd the monke,'Though I be symple here.''In what oflyce?' said Robyn:'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.
¶'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,'Ye have no nede, I saye;This monke hath brought it, I dare well swere,For he is of her abbay.'
¶'And she was a borowe,' ^^ sayd Robyn,'Betwene a knyght and me.Of a lytell money that I hym lent.Under the grene-wode tree.'' Striped cloth. '^ Know. " Together. '* Patron. " May I thrive. ^^ Security.[159]' And y f thou hast that sylver ibrought,I pray the let me se;And I shall helpe the eftsones, 2 1Y f thou have nede to me.'
¶The monke swore a full grete othe,With a sory chere,' O f the borowehode thou spekest to me,Herde I never ere.'
¶'I make my n 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,Thou may not say nay,How thou arte her servaunt,And servest her every day.
¶' And thou art made her messengere.My money for to pay;Therefore I cun the more thankeThou arte come at thy day.
¶' What is in your cofers?' sayd Robyn,'Trewe than tell thou me':'Syr,' he sayd, 'twenty marke,Also mote I the.'
¶' Y f there be no more,' sayd Robyn ,'I wyll not one peny;Y f thou hast myster 2 2 of ony more,Syr, more I shall lende to the.'
¶' And y f I fynde more,' sayd Robyn,'I-wys 2 3 thou shake it for gone; 2 4For of thy spendynge-sylver, monke,Thereof wyll I ryght none.
¶Again. 2 2 Need. 2 3 Certainly. 2 4 Give up.[160]'Go nowe forthe, Lytell Johan,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,And he tolde out of the monkes male"Eyght hondred pounde and more.
¶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.' ^°
¶'I make myn avowe to God,' sayd Robyn—'Monke, what tolde I the?—Our Lady is the trewest womanThat ever yet founde I me.
¶'By dere worthy God,' sayd Robyn,'To seche all Englond thorowe,Yet founde I never to my pay"A moche better borowe.
¶'Fyll of the best wyne, and do hym drynke,' saydRobyn,'And grete well thy lady hende,^'And yf she have nede to Robyn Hode,A frende she shall hym fynde.
¶'And yf she nedeth ony more sylver,Come thou agayne to me.And, by this token she hath me sent,She shall have such thre.'
¶The monke was goynge to London ward,There to hold grete mote,^'The knyght that rode so bye on hors.To brynge hym under fote."Wallet. 26 Venture. "Satisfaction. 28 Gentle. ^9 Meeting.[161]'Whether be ye away?' sayd Robyn:'Syr, to maners in this londe,Too reken with our reves,That have done moch wronge.'
¶'Come now forth, Lytell Johan,And harken to my tale;A better yemen I knowe none.To scke'° a monkes male.'
¶'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,
¶'To bydde a man to dyner,And syth'^ hym bete and bynde.''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,'Or that ye forther ryde.'
¶'Nay, for God,' than sayd the monke,'Me reweth'' I cam so nere;For better chepe I myght have dynedIn Blythe or in Dankestere.'
¶'Grete well your abbot,' sayd Robyn,'And your pryour, I you pray.And byd hym send me such a monkeTo dyner every day.'
¶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."'Search. "Perhaps a mistake for forcer = coSer. ^Afterwards." It repents me.[162]He dyde him streyt to Bernysdale,Under the grene-wode tre,And he founde there Robyn Hode,And all his mery meyne.
¶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.
¶'God the save, Robyn Hode,And all this company':'Welcome be thou, gentyll knyght.And ryght welcome to me.'
¶Than bespake hym Robyn Hode,To that knyght so fre:What nede dryveth the to grene-wode?I praye the, syr knyght, tell me.
¶'And welcome be thou, gentyll knyght.Why hast thou be so longe?''For the abbot and the hye iustyceWolde have had my londe.'
¶'Hast thou thy londe agayne?' sayd Robyn;'Treuth than tell thou me':'Ye, for God,' sayd the knyght,'And that thanke I God and the.
¶'But take no grefe, that I have be so longe;I came by a wrastelynge.And there I holpe a pore yeman.With wronge was put behynde.'
¶'Nay, for God,' sayd Robyn,'Syr knyght, that thanke I the;What man that helpeth a good yeman.His frende than wyll I be.'[163]'Have here foure hondred pounde,' sayd the knyght,'The whiche ye lent to me;And here is also twenty markeFor your curteysy.'
¶'Nay, for God,' sayd Robyn,'Thou broke'* it well for ay;For Our Lady, by her hye selerer.Hath sent to me my pay.
¶'And yf I toke it i-twyse,A shame it were to me;But trewely, gentyll knyght,Welcome arte thou to me.'
¶Whan Robyn had tolde his tale,He leugh and made good chere:'By my trouthe,' then sayd the knyght,'Your money is redy here.'
¶'Broke it well,' said Robyn,'Thou gentyll knyght so fre;And welcome be thou, gentyll knyght,Under my trystell-tre.'^
¶'But what shall these bowes do?' sayd Robyn,'And these arowes ifedred'^ fre?''By God,' than sayd the knyght,'A pore present to the.'
¶'Come now forth, Lytell Johan,And go to my treasure.And brynge me there foure hondred pounde;The monke over-tolde it me.
¶'Have here foure hondred pounde,Thou gentyll knyght and trewe.And bye thee hors and harnes good,And gylte thy spores all newe.** Enjoy. '5 Tree appointed for meetings. '* Feathered.[164]'And yf thou fayle ony spendynge,Corn to Robyn Hode,And by my trouth thou shalt none fayle,The whyles I have any good.
¶'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.'
¶Thus than holpe hym good Robyn,The knyght all of his care:God, that syt'' in heven hye,Graunte us well to fare!
¶The Fyfth Fytte
¶Now hath the knyght his leve i-take,And wente hym on his way;Robyn Hode and his mery menDwelled styll full many a day.
¶Lyth and lysten, gentil men.And herken what I shall say,How the proud sheryfe of NotynghamDyde crye' a full fayre play;
¶That all the best archers of the northSholde come upon a day.And he that shoteth allther^ bestThe game shall here away.
¶He that shoteth allther best,Furthest fayre and lowe.At a payre of fynly^ buttes.Under the grene wode shawe,
¶A ryght good arowe he shall have.The shaft of sylver whyte.The hede and feders of ryche rede golde,In Englond is none lyke.S' Sitteth. ' Caused to be announced. ' Of all. ' Goodly.[165]This than herde good Robyn,Under his trystell-tre:'Make you redy, ye wyght yonge men;That shotynge wyll I se.
¶'Buske* you, my mery yonge men;Ye shall go with me;And I wyll wete'' the shryves fayth,Trewe and yf he be.'
¶Whan they had theyr bowes i-bent,Theyr takles fedred fre,Seven score of wyght yonge menStode by Robyns kne.
¶Whan they cam to Notyngham,The buttes were fayre and longe;Many was the bolde archereThat shot with bowes stronge.
¶'There shall but syx shote with me;The other shal kepe my he[ve]de,*And stande with good bowes bent,That I be not desceyved.'
¶The fourth outlawe his bowe gan bende.And that was Robyn Hode,And that behelde the proud sheryfe,All by the but he stode.
¶Lytell Johan and good ScathelokeWere archers good and fre;Lytell Much and good Reynolde,The worste wolde they not be.[166]Whan they had shot aboute,These archours fayre and good,Evermore was the best,For soth, Robyn Hode .
p. 166¶H y m was delyvered the good arowe,For best worthy was he;He toke the yeft 7 so curteysly,To grene-wode wolde he.
¶They cryed out on Robyn Hode ,And grete homes gan they blowe:' W o worth the, 8 treason!' sayd Robyn'Full evyl thou art to knowe.
¶' An w o be thou! thou proude sheryf,Thus gladdynge thy gest;Other wyse thou behote 9 meIn yonder wylde forest.
¶'But had I the in grene-wode,Under my trystell-tre,Thou sholdest leve me a better weddeThan thy trewe lewte.
¶Full many a bowe there was bent,And arowes let they glyde;Many a kyrtell there was rent,And hurt many a syde.
¶The outlawes shot was so strongeThat no man myght them dryve,And the proud sheryfes men,They fled away full blyve. 1 0
¶Robyn sawe the busshement 11 to-broke,In grene wode he wolde have be;Many an arowe there was shotAmong e that company.'Gift. 8Woe be to thee. 9Promised. 10Quickly. "Ambuscade.[167]Lytell Johan was hurte full sore,With an arowe in his kne.That he myght neyther go'^ nor ryde;It was full grete pyte.
¶'Mayster,' then sayd Lytell Johan,'If ever thou lovedst me,And for that ylke lordes loveThat dyed upon a tre,
¶'And for the medes of my servyce.That I have served the,Lete never the proud sheryfAlyve now fynde me.
¶'But take out thy browne swerde.And smyte all of my hede.And gyve me woundes depe and wyde;No lyfe on me be lefte.'
¶'I wolde not that,' sayd Robyn,'Johan, that thou were slawe,"For all the golde in merry Englonde,Though it lay now on a rawe.'
¶'God forbede,' sayd Lytell Much,'That dyed on a tre,That thou sholdest, Lytell Johan,Parte our company.'
¶Up he toke hym on his backe.And bare hym well a myle;Many a tyme he layd him downe.And shot another whyle.
¶Then was there a fayre castell,A lytell within the wode;Double-dyched it was about.And walled, by the rode." Walk. '3 Slain.[168]And there dwelled that gentyll knyght,Syr Rychard at the Lee,That Robyn had lent his good,Under the grene-wode tree.
¶'And moche I thanke the of thy comfort,And of thy curteysye.And of thy grete kyndnesse,Under the grene-wode tre.
¶'I love no man in all this worldeSo much as I do the;For all the proud sheryf of Notyngham,Ryght here shalt thou be.
¶'Shutte 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."
¶'For one thynge, Robyn, I the behote;I swere by Saynt Quyntyne,These forty dayes thou wonnest'^ with me.To soupe, ete, and dyne.'
¶Bordes were layde, and clothes were spredde.Redely'^ and anone;Robyn Hode and his merry menTo mete can they gone."
¶The Sixth Fytte
¶Lythe and lysten, gentylmen.And herkyn to your songe;Howe the proude shyref of Notyngham,And men of armys stronge,"Go. I'Dwellest. '«Quickly. "Did they go.[169]Full fast cam to the hye shyref,The centre up to route,And they besette the knyghtes castell,The walles all aboute.
¶The proude shyref loude gan crye,And sayde, 'Thou traytour knight,Thou kepest here the kynges enemys,Agaynst the lawe and right.'
¶'Sir, I wyll avow that I have done.The dedys that here be dyght,'Upon all the landes that I have.AsIa m a trewe knyght.
¶'Wende furth, sirs, on your way.And do no more to meTyll ye wyt oure kynges wille.What he wyll say to the.'
¶The shyref thus had his answere.Without any lesynge;^Forth he yede' to London towne.All for to tel our kinge.
¶Ther he telde him of that knight.And eke of Robyn Hode,And also of the bolde archars,That were soo noble and gode.
¶'He wyll avowe that he hath done,To mayntene the oudawes stronge;He wyll be lorde, and set you at nought.In all the northe londe.'
¶'I wil be at Notyngham,' saide our kynge,'Within this fourteenyght,And take I wyll Robyn HodeAnd so I wyll that knight.' Prepared. ^ Falsehcx)d. ' Went.[170]'Go nowe home, shyref,' sayde our kynge,'And do as I byd the;And ordeyn gode archers ynowe,Of all the wyde centre.'
¶The shyref had his leva i-take.And went hym on his way,And Robyn Hode to grene wode.Upon a certen day.
¶And Lytel John was hole of the aroweThat shot was in his kne,And dyd hym streyght to Robyn Hode,Under the grene wode tree.
¶Robyn Hode walked in the forest,Under the levys grene;The proude shyref of NotynghamThereof he had grete tene.*
¶The shyref there fayled of Robyn Hode,He myght not have his pray;Than he awayted^ this gentyll knyght,Bothe by nyght and day.
¶Ever he wayted* the gentyll knyght,Syr Richarde at the Lee,As he went on haukynge by the ryver-syde.And lete his haukes flee.
¶Toke he there this gentyll knight,With men of armys stronge.And led hym to Notynghamwarde,Bound bothe fete and hande.
¶The shyref sware a full grete othe,Bi him that dyed on rode.He had lever than an hundred poundThat he had Robyn Hode.[171]This harde the knyghtes wyfe,A fayr lady and a free;She set hir on a gode palfrey,To grene wode anone rode she.
p. 171¶Whanne she cam in the forest.Under the grene wode tree,Fonde she there Robyn Hode,And al his fayre mene.^
¶'Late never my wedded lordeShamefully slayne be;He is fast bound to Notinghamwarde,For the love of the.'
¶Anone than saide goode RobynTo that lady so fre,'What man hath your lorde ytake?''The proude shirife,' than sayd she.
¶Up than sterte gode Robyn,As man that had ben wode:'Buske you, my mery men,For hym that dyed on rode.
¶'And he that this sorowe forsaketh,By hym that dyed on tre.Shall he never in grene wodeNo lenger dwel with me.'^ Retinue.[172]Sone there were gode bowes bent,Mo than seven score;Hedge ne dyche spared they noneThat was them before.
¶'I make myn avowe to God,' sayde Robya'The sherif wolde I fayne see;And if I may him take,I-quyt' then shall he be.'
¶And when they came to Notingham,They walked in the strete;And with the proude sherif i-wysSone can they mete.
¶'Abyde, thou proude sherif,' he sayde,'Abyde, and speke with me;Of some tidinges of oure kingeI wolde fayne here of the.
¶'This seven yere, by dere worthy God,Ne yede' I this fast on fote;I make myn avowe to God, thou proude sherif.It is not for thy gode.'
¶Robyn bent a full goode bowe,An arrowe he drowe at wyll;He hit so the proude sherifeUpon the grounde he lay full still.
¶'Lye thou there, thou proude sherife;Evyll mote' thou thryve:There myght no man to the trusteThe whyles thou were a lyve.'^ Requited. ' Went. ° May.[173]His men drewe out theyr bryght swerdes,That were so sharpe and kene.And layde on the sheryves men,And dryved them downe bydene.'"
¶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.
¶'Leve thy hers 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,Without ony leasynge,Tyll that I have gete us graceOf Edwarde, our comly kynge.'
¶The Seventh Fytte
¶The kynge came to Notynghame,With knyghtes in grete araye.For to take that gentyll knyghtAnd Robyn Hode, and yf he may.
¶He asked men of that countre,After Robyn Hode,And after that gentyll knyght.That was so bolde and stout.
¶Whan they had tolde hym the caseOur kynge understode ther tale,And seased in his hondeThe knyghtes londes all. '
¶All the passe* of LancasshyreHe went both ferre and nere,1"Quickly. ' Extent (?).[174]Tyll he came to Plomton Parke;He faylyd^ many of his dere.
¶There' our kynge was wont to seHerdes many one,He coud unneth fynde one dere,That bare ony good home.
¶The kynge was wonder wroth with all,And swore by the Trynyte,'I wolde I had Robyn Hode,With eyen I myght hym se.
¶'And he that wolde smyte of the knyghtes hede.And brynge it to me,He shall have the knyghtes londes,Syr Rycharde at the Le.
¶'I gyve it hym with my charter.And sele it with my honde,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 leege lorde the kynge,One worde I shall you say.
¶'There is no man in this countreMay have the knyghtes londes,Whyle Robyn Hode may ryde or gone.And here a bowe in his hondes.
¶'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 kyngeIn Notyngham, and well more;^ Missed. ' Where. * Lose.[175]Coude he not here of Robyn Hode,In what countre that he were.
¶But alway went good RobynBy halke^ and eke by hyll,And alway slewe the kynges dere.And welt^ them at his wyll.
¶Than bespake a proude fostere.That stode by our kynges kne:'Yf ye wyll see good Robyn,Ye must do after me.
¶'Take fyve of the best knyghtesThat be in your lede,'And walke downe by yon abbay,And gate you monkes wede.'
¶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,On lyve'" yf that he be;Or ye come to Notyngham,With eyen ye shall hym se.
¶Full hastely our kynge was dyght,"So were his knyghtes fyve,Everych of them in monkes wede,And hasted them thyder blyve."
¶Our kynge was grete above his cole,"A brode hat on his crowne,Ryght as he were abbot-lyke,They rode up into the towne.' Hiding place. ' Controlled. ' Company. ' Garments. * Guide. '" Alive." Prepared. " Quickly. " Cowl.[176]Styf botes our kynge had on,Forsoth as I you say;He rode syngynge to grene wode.The covent''' was clothed in graye.
¶His male-hors" and his grete somers"Folowed our kynge behynde,Tyll they came to grene wode,A myle under the lynde."
¶There they met with good Robyn,Stondynge on the waye,And so dyde many a bolde archere,For soth as I you say.
¶Robyn toke the kynges hors,Hasteiy in that stede,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,Other shift have not wee.
¶'And ye have chyrches and rentes both,And gold full grete plente;Gyve us some of your spendynge.For saynt charyte.'
¶Than bespake our cumly kynge,Anone than sayd he;'I brought no more to grene-wodeBut forty pounde with me.
¶'I have layne at Notyngham,This fourtynyght with our kynge,And spent I have full moche goodOn many a grete lordynge.'* The knights dressed as members of a convent. '' Pack-horse. *' Sumpter-horse." Linden.[177]'And I have but forty pounde.No more than have I me:But if I had an hondred pounde,I would give it to thee.'
¶Robyn toke the forty pounde.And departed it in two partye;HalfendelP* he gave his mery men,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.
¶'But well the greteth Edwarde, our kynge.And sent to the his scale,And byddeth the corn to Notyngham,Both to mete and mele.'
¶He toke out the brode targe,"And sone he lete hym se;Robyn coud his courteysy.And set hym on his kne.
¶'I love no man in all the worldeSo well as I do my kynge;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.Under my trystell-tre.'
¶Forth he lad our comly kynge.Full fay re by the honde;Many a dere there was slayne,And full fast dyghtande.^""Half. w Charter. '"Preparing.[178]Robyn toke a full grete home,And loude he gan blowe;Seven score of wyght yonge menCame redy on a rowe.
¶All they kneled on theyr kne,Full fayre before Robyn:The kyhge sayd hym selfe untyll,And swore by Saynt Austyn,
¶'Here is a wonder semely sight;Me thynketh, by Goddes pyne,^'His men are more at his byddyngeThen my men be at myn.'
¶Full hastely was theyr dyner idyght,"And therto gan they gone;They served our kynge with all theyr myght,Both Robyn and Lytell Johan.
¶Anone before our kynge was setThe fatte venyson,The good whyte brede, the good rede wyne,And therto the fyne ale and browne.
¶'Make good chere,' said Robyn,'Abbot, for charyte;And for this ylke''' tydynge,Blyssed mote thou be.
¶'Now shalte thou se what lyfe we lede,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;Our kynge was never so sore agast.He wende^^ to have be shente.^'
¶"Passion. "Got ready, "game. "Before. ^5 Dwell. 26 Thought. "Injured.[179]Two yerdes there were up set,Thereto gan they gange;By fyfty pase, our kynge sayd,The merkes were to longe.
¶On every syde a rose-garlonde,They shot under the lyne: 2 8' Whoso fayleth of the rose-garlonde,' sayd Robyn ,'His takyll he shall tyne. 2 9
¶' 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,I-wys ryght all bare':And all that fell in Robyns lote,He smote them wonder sare.
¶T wyse Robyn shot aboute,And ever he cleved the wande,And so dyde good GylberteWith the whyte hande.
¶Lytell Johan and good Scathelocke,For nothynge wolde they spare;When they fayled of the garlonde,Robyn smote them full sore.
¶At the last shot that Robyn shot,For all his frendes fare, 3 0Ye the fayled of the garlondeThre fyngers and mare.
¶Than bespake good Gylberte,And thus he gan say;'Mayster,' he sayd, 'your takyll is lost,Stande forth and take your pay.'2 8 Linden-tree. 2 9 Lose. 3 0 In spite of. what his friends had done.[180]'If it be so,' sayd Robyn,'That may no better be,Syr abbot, I delyver the myn arowe,I pray the, syr, serve thou me.'
¶'It falleth not for myn ordre,' sayd our kynge,'Robyn, by thy leve,For to smyte no good yeman.For doute I sholde hym greve.'
¶'Smyte on boldely,' sayd Robyn,'I give the large leve':Anone our kynge, with that worde,He folde up his sieve.
¶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.
¶'There is pith in thyn arme,' sayd Robyn,'I trowe thou canst well shete';Thus our kynge and Robyn HodeTogeder gan they mete.
¶Robyn behelde our comly kyngeWystly'^ in the face,So dyde Syr Rycharde at the Le,And kneled downe in that place.
¶And so dyde all the wylde oudawes.Whan they se them knele:'My lorde the kynge of Englonde,Now I knowe you well.'
¶'Mercy then, Robyn,' sayd our kynge,'Under your trystyll-tre.Of thy goodnesse and thy grace,For my men and me!'31 Went. '2 Thoughtfully.[181]'Yes, for God,' sayd Robyn,'And also God me save,I aske mercy, my lorde the kynge,And for my men I crave.'
¶'Yes, for God,' than sayd our kynge,'And therto sent I me.With that thou leve the grene-wode,And all thy company;
¶'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.
¶'I wyll come to your courte.Your servyse for to se.And brynge with me of my menSeven score and thre.
¶'But me lyke^' well your servyse,I wyll come agayne full soone,And shote at the donne" dere.As I am wonte to done.'
¶The Eighth Fytte'Haste thou ony grene cloth,' sayd our kynge,'That thou wylte sell nowe to me?''Ye, for God,' sayd Robyn,'Thyrty yerdes and thre.'
¶'Yes, for God,' then sayd Robyn,'Or elles I were a fole;Another day ye wyll me clothe,I trowe, ayenst the Yoke.''' Unless I like. ^* Dun. ' In preparation for Christmas.[182]The kynge kest of his cole then,A grene garment he dyde on,And every knyght also, iwys,Another had full sone.
¶Whan they were clothed in Lyncolne grene.They keste away theyr graye;'Now we shall to Notyngham,'All thus our kynge gan say.
¶They bente theyr bowes and forth they went,Shotynge all in-fere/Towarde the towne of Notyngham,Outlawes as they were.
¶Our kynge and Robyn rode togyder,For soth as I you say.And they shote plucke-buflet.As they went by the way.
¶And many a buffet our kynge wanOf Robyn Hode that day,And nothynge spared good RobynOur kynge when he did pay.
¶'So God me helpe,' sayd our kynge,'Thy game is nought to lere';I sholde not get a shote of the.Though I shote all this yere.'
¶All the people of NotynghamThey stode and behelde;They sawe nothynge but mantels of greneThat covered all the felde.
¶Than every man to other gan say,'I drede our kynge be slone*;Come Robyn Hode to the towne, i-wysOn lyve he lefte never one.'* Together. ' You do not need to learn your game. * Slain.[183]Full hastely they began to fle.Both yemen and knaves,And olde wyves that myght evyll goo,They hypped on theyr staves.
¶The kynge loughe full fast,And commaunded theym agayne;When they se our comly kynge,I-wys they were full fayne.
¶They ete and dranke, and made them glad.And sange with notes hye;Than bespake our comly kyngeTo Syr Richarde 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.
¶Had Robyn dwelled in the kynges courteBut twelve monethes and thre,That he had spent an hondred pounde.And all his mennes fe.
¶In every place where Robyn cameEver more he layde downe,^Both for knyghtes and for squyres,To gete hym grete renowne.
¶By than the yere was all agoneHe had no man but twayne,Lytell Johan and good Scathelocke,With hym all for to gone.
¶Robyn sawe yonge men shoteFull faire upon a day;'Alas!' than sayd good Robyn,'My welthe is went away.*Paid liberally.[184]'Somtyme I was an archere good,A styffe and eke a stronge;I was compted the best archereThat was in mery Englonde.
¶'Alas!' then sayd good Robyn,'Alas and well a woo!Yf I dwele lenger with the kynge,Sorowe wyll me sloo.'
¶Forth than went Robyn HodeTyll he came to our kynge:'My lorde the kynge of Englonde,Graunte me myn askynge.
¶*I made a chapell in Bernysdale,That semely is to se,It is of Mary Magdaleyne,And thereto wolde I be.
¶'I myght never in this seven nyghtNo tyme to slepe ne wynke,Nother all these seven dayesNother ete ne drynke.
¶'Me longeth sore to Bernysdale,I may not be therfro;Barefote and wolwarde* I have hyght'Thyder for to go.'
¶'Yf it be so,' than sayd our kynge,'It may no better be;Seven nyght I gyve the leve,No lengre, to dwell fro me.'
¶'Gramercy, lorde,' then sayd Robyn,And set hym on his kne;He toke his leve full courteysly,To grene wode then went he.6Doing penance by wearing wool next the skin. 'Promised.[185]Whan he came to grene wode,In a mery mornynge,There he herde the notes smallOf byrdes mery syngynge.
¶'It is ferre gone,' sayd Robyn,'That I was last here;Me lyste* a lytell for to shoteAt the donne dere.'
¶Robyn slewe a full grete harte;His home than gan he blow,That all the outlawes of that forestThat home coud they knowe.
¶And fayre dyde of theyr bodes,And set them on theyr kne:'Welcome,' they sayd, 'our mayster.Under this grene-wode tre.'
¶Robyn dwelled in grene wodeTwenty yere and two;For all drede of Edwarde our kynge,Agayne wolde he not goo.
¶Yet he was begyled, i-wys,Through a wycked woman,The pryoresse of Kyrkesly,That nye was of hys kynne:
¶For the love of a knyght,Syr Roger of Donkesly,That was her owne speciall;Full evyll mote they the!'•it pleases me. *May they thrive![186]They toke togyder theyr counsel!Robyn Hode for to sle.And how they myght best do that dede,His banis'° for to be.
¶Than bespake good Robyn,In place where as he stode,'To morow I muste to Kyrke[s]ly,Craftely" to be leten blode.'
¶Syr Roger of Donkestere,By the pryoresse he lay,And there they betrayed good Robyn Hode,Through theyr false playe.
¶Cryst have mercy on his soule,That dyed on the rode!For he was a good oudawe.And dyde pore men moch god.