The sheriff dwelled in Nottingham,
He was fain that he was gone,
And Robin and his merry men
Went to wood anone.
"Go we to dinner," said Little John.
Robin Hood said, "Nay;
For I dread Our Lady be wroth with me,
For she sent me not my pay."
"Have no doubt, master," said Little John,
"Yet is not the sun at rest,
For I dare say, and safely sware,
The knight is true and trust."
"Take thy bow in thy hand," said Robin,
"Let Much wende with thee,
And so shall William Scathelock,
And no man abide with me,
And walk up into the Sa-yl-es,
And to Watling Street,
And wait after such unketh gest,
Up-chance ye may them meet.
Whether he be messeng-er,
Or a man that mirth-es can,
Or if he be a poor man,
Of my good he shall have some."
Forth then stert Little John,
Half in tray and teen,
And girded him with a full good sword,
Under a mantle of green.
They went up to the Sa-yl-es,
These yeomen all three;
They look-ed east, they look-ed west,
They might no man see.
But as he looked in Barnisdale,
By the high way,
Then were they ware of two black monks,
Each on a good palfray.
Then bespak-e Little John,
To Much he gan say,
"I dare lay my life to wed,
That these monks have brought our pay.
Make glad cheer," said Little John,
"And frese our bows of yew,
And look your hearts be sicker and sad,
Your strings trust-y and true.
The monk hath fifty-two men,
And seven som-ers full strong,
There rideth no bishop in this land
So royally, I understond.
Brethren," said Little John,
"Here are no more but we three;
But we bring them to dinn-er,
Our master dare we not see.
Bend your bows," said Little John,
"Make all yon press to stand!
The foremost monk, his life and his death
Is clos-ed in my hand!
Abide, churl monk," said Little John,
"No farther that thou gone;
If thou dost, by dere-worthy God,
Thy death is in my hond.
And evil thrift on thy head," said Little John,
"Right under thy hat's bond,
For thou hast made our master wroth,
He is fast-ing so long."
"Who is your master?" said the monk.