"By god and saynt Rycharde;"
With that cam in a fat-heded monke,
The heygh selerer. 40
"He is dede or hanged," sayd the monke,
"By god that bought me dere,
And we shall have to spende in this place
Foure hondred pounde by yere."
The abbot and the hy selerer, 45
Sterte forthe full bolde,
The high justyce of Englonde
The abbot there dyde holde.
The hye justyce and many mo
Had take into their honde 50
Holy all the knyghtes det,
To put that knyght to wronge.
They demed the knyght wonder sore,
The abbot and hys meynè:
"But he come this ylke day 55
Dysheryte shall he be."
"He wyll not come yet," sayd the justyce,
"I dare well undertake;"
But in sorowe tyme for them all
The knyght came to the gate. 60
Than bespake that gentyll knyght
Untyll hys meynè,
"Now put on your symple wedes
That ye brought fro the see."
[They put on their symple wedes,] 65
And came to the gates anone;
The porter was redy hymselfe,
And welcomed them everychone.
"Welcome, syr knyght," sayd the portèr,
"My lorde to mete is he, 70
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 hors, 75
That ever yet sawe I me.
"Lede them into the stable," he sayd,
"That eased might they be:"
"They shall not come therin," sayd the knyght,
"By god that dyed on a tre." 80
Lordes were to mete isette
In that abbotes hall;
The knyght went forth and kneled downe,
And salued them grete and small.
"Do gladly, syr abbot," sayd the knyght, 85
"I am come to holde my day:"
The fyrst word the abbot spake,
"Hast thou brought my pay?"
"Not one peny," sayd the knyght,
"By god that maked me;" 90
"Thou art a shrewed dettour," sayd the abbot;
"Syr justyce, drynke to me.
"What doost thou here," sayd the abbot,
"But thou haddest brought thy pay?"
"For god," than sayd the knyght, 95
"To pray of a lenger daye."
"Thy daye is broke," sayd the justyce,
"Londe getest thou none:"
"Now, good syr justyce, be my frende,
And fende me of my fone." 100
"I am holde with the abbot," sayd the justyce,[L101]
"Bothe with cloth and fee:"
"Now, good syr sheryf, be my frende:"
"Nay for god," sayd he.
"Now, good syr abbot, be my frende, 105
For thy curteysè,
And holde my londes in thy honde
Tyll I have made the gree;
"And I wyll be thy true servaunte,
And trewely serve the, 110
Tyl ye have foure hondred pounde
Of money good and free."
The abbot sware a full grete othe,
"By god that dyed on a tree,
Get the londe where thou may, 115
For thou getest none of me."
"By dere worthy god," then sayd the knyght,
"That all this worlde wrought,
But I have my londe agayne
Full dere it shall be bought. 120
"God, that was of a mayden borne,
Lene us well to spede![L122]
For it is good to assay a frende
Or that a man have nede."
The abbot lothely on him gan loke, 125
And vylaynesly hym gan call;[L126]
"Out," he sayd, "thou false knyght,
Spede the out of my hall!"
"Thou lyest," then sayd the gentyll knyght,
"Abbot in thy hal; 130
False knyght was I never,
By god that made us all."
Up then stode that gentyll knyght,
To the abbot sayd he,
"To suffre a knyght to knele so longe 135
Thou canst no curteysye.
"In joustes and in tournement
Full ferre than have I be,
And put myselfe as ferre in prees
As ony that ever I se." 140
"What wyll ye gyve more," said the justyce,
"And the knyght shall make a releyse?
And elles dare I safly swere
Ye holde never your londe in pees."
"An hondred pounde," sayd the abbot; 145
The justyce said, "Gyve him two;"
"Nay, be god," said the knyght,
"Yet gete ye it not soo.[L148]
"Though ye wolde gyve a thousande more,
Yet were ye never the nere;[L150] 150
Shall there never be myn eyre,
Abbot, justyse, ne frere."
He sterte hym to a borde anone,
Tyll a table rounde,
And there he shoke out of a bagge 155
Even foure hondred pounde.
"Have here thy golde, syr abbot," sayd the knyght,
"Which that thou lentest me;
Haddest thou ben curteys at my comynge,
Rewarde sholdest thou have be." 160
The abbot sat styll, and ete no more,
For all his ryall chere;
He caste his hede on his sholdèr,
And fast began to stare.
"Take me my golde agayne," sayd the abbot, 165
"Syr justyce, that I toke the;"
"Not a peny," sayd the justyce,
"By god, that dyed on a tree."
"Syr abbot, and ye men of lawe,
Now have I holde my daye, 170
Now shall I have my londe agayne,
For ought that you can saye."
The knyght stert out of the dore,
Awaye was all his care,
And on he put his good clothynge, 175
The other he lefte there.
He wente hym forthe full mery syngynge,
As men have tolde in tale,
His lady met hym at the gate,
At home in Uterysdale.[L180] 180
"Welcome, my lorde," sayd his lady;
"Syr, lost is all your good?"
"Be mery, dame," sayd the knyght,
"And praye for Robyn Hode,
"That ever his soule be in blysse; 185
He holpe me out of my tene;
Ne had not be his kyndenesse,
Beggers had we ben.
"The abbot and I acordyd ben,
He is served of his pay, 190
The good yeman lent it me,
As I came by the way."
This knyght than dwelled fayre at home,
The soth for to say,
Tyll he had got foure hondreth pounde, 195
All redy for too paye.
He purveyed hym an hondred bowes,
The strenges welle [y-]dyght,
An hondred shefe of arowes good,
The hedes burnyshed full bryght. 200
And every arowe an elle longe,
With pecocke well ydyght,
Inocked all with whyte sylvèr,
It was a semly syght.
He purveyed hym an hondreth men, 205
Well harneysed in that stede,
And hymselfe in that same sete,[L207]
And clothed in whyte and rede.
He bare a launsgay in his honde,
And a man ledde his male, 210
And reden with a lyght songe
Unto Bernysdale.
As he went at brydge ther was a wrastelyng,
And there taryed was he,
And there was all the best yemèn, 215
Of all the west countree.
A full fayre game there was upset;
A whyte bull up ipyght,[L218]
A grete courser with sadle and brydil,
With golde burneyshed full bryght; 220
A payre of gloves, a rede golde rynge,
A pype of wyne, in good fay;
What man bereth him best, i-wys,
The pryce shall bere away.
There was a yeman in that place, 225
And best worthy was he,
And for he was ferre and frend bestad,
Islayne he sholde have be.
The knyght had reuth of this yemàn,
In place where that he stode, 230
He said that yoman sholde have no harme,
For love of Robyn Hode.
The knyght presed into the place,
An hondred folowed hym fre,[L234]
With bowes bent, and arowes sharpe, 235
For to shende that company.
They sholdred all, and made hym rome,
To wete what he wolde say;
He toke the yeman by the honde,
And gave hym all the playe. 240
He gave hym fyve marke for his wyne,
There it laye on the molde,
And bad it sholde be sette a broche,
Drynke who so wolde.
Thus longe taryed this gentyll knyght, 245
Tyll that playe was done,
So longe abode Robyn fastynge,
Thre houres after the none.
1, Ritson, this way.
2, hym, _sic_ Ch. & M.
25. The prior, in an abbey, was the officer immediately under the
abbot; in priories and conventual cathedrals he was the
superior.--RITSON.
101, 2. I.e., the Chief Justice had been retained for the abbot by
robe and fee. A writer in _Notes and Queries_, (vol. vi. p. 479,)
quotes statutes of Edward I. and Edward III. against maintenance, in
which the abuse of robes and fees is mentioned, and cites the
following clause from the oath required to be taken by justices:
"And that ye will take no _fee_ so long as ye shall be justices, nor
_robes_, of any man great or small, except of the king himself."
122, leue, W. Lende us, C.
126, loke (for call), W. C.
148, grete, W. get, C.
150, thou. PCC.
180. This is a place unknown. There is a forest in Lancashire,
observes Ritson, of the name of Wierysdale, but it appears
subsequently that the knight's castle was in Nottinghamshire.
207, sute, C.
218, I up pyght, W. up ypyght, C.
234, fere, W. in fere, C.
THE THYRDE FYTTE.
Lyth and lysten, gentyll men,
All that now be here,
Of Lytell Johan, that was the knyghtes man,
Good myrthe ye shall here.
It was upon a mery day, 5
That yonge men wolde go shete,[L6]
Lytell Johan fet his bowe anone,
And sayd he wolde them mete.
Thre tymes Lytell Johan shot about,
And always cleft the wande;[L10] 10
The proude sheryf of Notyngham
By the markes gan stande.
The sheryf swore a full grete othe,
By hym that dyed on a tre,
This man is the best archere 15
That yet sawe I me.
"Say me now, wyght yonge man,
What is now thy name?
In what countre were thou born,[L19]
And where is thy wonnynge wane?"[L20] 20
"In Holdernesse I was bore,
I-wys all of my dame;
Men call me Reynolde Grenelefe,
Whan I am at hame."
"Say me, Reynaud Grenelefe, 25
Wolte thou dwell with me?
And every yere I wyll the gyve
Twenty marke to thy fee."
"I have a mayster," sayd Lytell Johan,
"A curteys knight is he; 30
May ye gete leve of hym,
The better may it bee."
The sheryfe gate Lytell Johan
Twelve monethes of the knyght;
Therfore he gave him ryght anone 35
A good hors and a wyght.
Now is Lytel Johan the sheryffes man,
God gyve us well to spede,
But alway thought Lytell Johan
To quyte hym well his mede. 40
"Now so god me helpe," sayd Lytel Johan,[L41]
"And be my trewe lewtè,
I shall be the worste servaunte to hym
That ever yet had he."
It befell upon a Wednesday, 45
The sheryfe on hontynge was gone,
And Lytel Johan lay in his bed,
And was foryete at home.
Therfore he was fastynge
Tyl it was past the none; 50
"Good syr stuard, I pray the,
Geve me to dyne," sayd Lytel Johan.
"It is to long for Grenelefe,
Fastynge so long to be;
Therfore I pray the, stuarde, 55
My dyner gyve thou me."
"Shalt thou never ete ne drynke," said the stuarde,
"Tyll my lord be come to towne;"
"I make myn avowe to god," sayd Lytell Johan,
"I had lever to cracke thy crowne." 60
The butler was full uncurteys,
There he stode on flore;
He sterte to the buttery,
And shet fast the dore.
Lytell Johan gave the buteler such a rap, 65
His backe yede nygh on two;
Tho he lyved an hundreth wynter,
The wors he sholde go.
He sporned the dore with his fote,
It went up wel and fyne,[L70] 70
And there he made a large lyveray
Both of ale and wyne.
"Syth ye wyl not dyne," sayd Lytel Johan,
"I shall gyve you to drynke,
And though ye lyve an hondred wynter, 75
On Lytell Johan ye shall thynk."
Lytell Johan ete, and Lytell [Johan] dronke,
The whyle that he wolde;
The sheryfe had in hys kechyn a coke,
A stoute man and a bolde. 80
"I make myn avowe to god," sayd the coke,
"Thou arte a shrewde hynde,
In an householde to dwel,
For to ask thus to dyne."
And there he lent Lytel Johan 85
Good strokes thre;
"I make myn avowe," said Lytell Johan,
"These strokes lyketh well me.
"Thou arte a bolde man and an hardy
And so thynketh me; 90
And or I passe fro this place,
Asayed better shalt thou be."
Lytell Johan drewe a good swerde,
The coke toke another in honde;
They thought nothynge for to fle, 95
But styfly for to stonde.
There they fought sore togyder,
Two myle way and more;
Myght neyther other harme done,
The mountenaunce of an houre. 100
"I make myn avowe to god," sayd Lytell Johan,
"And be my trewe lewtè,
Thou art one of the best swerdemen,
That ever yet sawe I me.
"Coowdest thou shote as well in a bowe, 105
To grene wood thou sholdest with me,
And two tymes in the yere thy clothynge
Ichaunged sholde be;
"And every yere of Robyn Hode
Twenty marke to thy fee:" 110
"Put up thy swerde," sayd the coke,
"And felowes wyll we be."
Then he fette to Lytell Johan
The numbles of a doo,
Good brede and full good wyne; 115
They ete and dranke therto.
And whan they had dronken well,
Ther trouthes togyder they plyght,
That they wolde be with Robyn
That ylke same day at nyght. 120
They dyde them to the tresure-hous,[L121]
As fast as they myght gone;
The lockes, that were of good stele,
They brake them everychone.
They toke away the sylver vessell, 125
And all that they myght get,
Peces, masars, and spones
Wolde they non forgete.
Also they toke the good pence,
Thre hondred pounde and three, 130
And dyde them strayt to Robyn Hode,
Under the grene wode tre.
"God the save, my dere maystèr,
And Cryst the save and se;"
And than sayd Robyn to Lytell Johan, 135
"Welcome myght thou be;
"And also be that fayre yemàn
Thou bryngest there with the.
What tydynges fro Notyngham?
Lytell Johan, tell thou me." 140
"Well the greteth the proude sheryfe,
And sende the here by me
His coke and his sylver vessell,
And thre hondred pounde and thre."
"I make myn avow to god," sayd Robyn, 145
"And to the trenytè,
It was never by his good wyll
This good is come to me."
Lytell Johan hym there bethought
On a shrewed wyle;[L150] 150
Fyve myle in the forest he ran,
Hym happed at his wyll.
Than he met the proud sheryf,
Huntynge with hounde and horne;
Lytell Johan coud his curteysye, 155
And kneled hym beforne.
"God the save, my dere maystèr,
And Cryst the save and se;"
"Raynolde Grenelefe," sayd the sheryfe,
"Where hast thou nowe be?" 160
"I have be in this forest,
A fayre syght can I se;
It was one of the fayrest syghtes[L163]
That ever yet sawe I me.
"Yonder I se a ryght fayre hart, 165
His coloure is of grene;
Seven score of dere upon an herde
Be with hym all bedene.
"His tynde are so sharp, maystèr,
Of sexty and well mo, 170
That I durst not shote for drede
Lest they wolde me sloo."
"I make myn avowe to god," sayd the sheryf,
"That syght wolde I fayn se;"
"Buske you thyderwarde, my dere maystèr, 175
Anone, and wende with me."
The sheryfe rode, and Lytell Johan
Of fote he was full smarte;
And when they came afore Robyn,
"Lo, here is the mayster harte!" 180
Styll stode the proud sheryf,
A sory man was he:
"Wo worthe the, Raynolde Grenelefe![L183]
Thou hast now betrayed me."
"I make myn avowe to god," sayd Lytell Johan, 185
"Mayster, ye be to blame,
I was mysserved of my dynere,
When I was with you at hame."
Soone he was to super sette,
And served with sylver whyte; 190
And whan the sheryf se his vessell,
For sorowe he myght not ete.
"Make good chere," sayd Robyn Hode,
"Sheryfe, for charytè,
And for the love of Lytell Johan, 195
Thy lyfe is graunted to the."
When they had supped well,
The day was all agone,
Robyn commaunded Lytell Johan
To drawe of his hosen and his shone, 200
His kyrtell and his cote-a-pye,
That was furred well fyne,
And take him a grene mantèll,
To lappe his body therin.
Robyn commaunded his wyght young men, 205
Under the grene wood tre,
They shall lay in that same sorte,
That the sheryf myght them se.
All nyght laye that proud sheryf
In his breche and in his sherte; 210
No wonder--it was in grene wode,--
Tho his sydes do smerte.
"Make glad chere," sayd Robyn Hode,
"Sheryfe, for charytè,
For this is our order i-wys, 215
Under the grene wood tre."
"This is harder order," sayd the sheryfe,
"Than ony anker or frere;
For al the golde in mery Englonde,
I wolde not longe dwell here." 220
"All these twelve monethes," sayd Robyn,
"Thou shalte dwell with me;
I shall the teche, proud sheryfe,
An outlawe for to be."
"Or I here another nyght lye," sayd the sheryfe, 225
"Robyn, nowe I pray the,
Smyte of my hede rather to-morne,
And I forgyve it the.
"Lete me go," then sayd the sheryf,
"For saynt Charytè, 230
And I wyll be the best frende
That ever yet had ye."[L232]
"Thou shalte swere me an othe," sayd Robyn,
"On my bryght bronde,
Thou shalt never awayte me scathe, 235
By water ne by londe;
"And if thou fynde ony of my men,
By nyght or by day,
Upon thyne othe thou shalt swere
To helpe them that thou may." 240
Now hathe the sheryf iswore his othe,[L241]
And home he began to gone;
He was as full of grene wode
As ever was hepe of stone.
6, shote, W.
10, he sleste, W.
19, thou wast, C. wast thou, Wh.
20, wane, Ch. & M. wan, R.
41. He, Ritson. Ge. W. f. God.
70, Ch. & M. open.
121, hyed, C.
150, whyle, W.
163, syght, W. sightes, C.
183, wo the worth, W.
232, ye, Ch. & M. the, R.
241, have, R. hathe, Ch. & M.
THE FOURTH FYTTE.
The sheryf dwelled in Notynghame,
He was fayne that he was gone,
And Robyn and his mery men
Went to wode anone.
"Go we to dyner," sayd Lytell Johan; 5
Robyn Hode sayd, "Nay;
For I drede our lady be wroth with me,
For she sent me not my pay."
"Have no dout, mayster," sayd Lytell Johan,
"Yet is not the sonne at rest; 10
For I dare saye, and saufly swere,
The knyght is trewe and trust."
"Take thy bowe in thy hande," sayd Robyn,
"Let Moche wende with the,
And so shall Wyllyam Scathelock, 15
And no man abyde with me.
"And walk up into the Sayles,
And to Watlynge-strete,
And wayte after some unketh gest;[L19]
Up-chaunce ye may them mete. 20
"Whether he be messengere,
Or a man that myrthes can,
Or yf he be a pore man,
Of my good he shall have some."
Forth then stert Lytel Johan, 25
Half in tray and tene,
And gyrde hym with a full good swerde,
Under a mantel of grene.
They went up to the Sayles,
These yemen all thre; 30
They loked est, they loked west,
They myght no man se.
But as he loked in Bernysdale,
By the hye waye,
Than were they ware of two blacke monkes, 35
Eche on a good palferay.
Then bespake Lytell Johan,
To Much he gan say,
"I dare lay my lyfe to wedde,
That these monkes have brought our pay. 40
"Make glad chere," sayd Lytell Johan,
"And frese our bowes of ewe,
And loke your hertes be seker and sad,
Your strynges trusty and trewe.
"The monke hath fifty two men, 45
And seven somers full stronge;
There rydeth no bysshop in this londe
So ryally, I understond.
"Brethern," sayd Lytell Johan,
"Here are no more but we thre; 50
But we brynge them to dyner,
Our mayster dare we not se.
"Bende your bowes," sayd Lytell Johan,
"Make all yon prese to stonde;[L54]
The formost monke, his lyfe and his deth 55
Is closed in my honde.
"Abyde, chorle monke," sayd Lytell Johan,
"No ferther that thou gone;
Yf thou doost, by dere worthy god,
Thy deth is in my honde. 60
"And evyll thryfte on thy hede," sayd Lytell Johan,
"Ryght under thy hattes bonde,
For thou hast made our mayster wroth,
He is fastynge so longe."
"Who is your mayster?" sayd the monke; 65
Lytell Johan sayd "Robyn Hode;"
"He is a stronge thefe," sayd the monke,
"Of hym herd I never good."
"Thou lyest," than sayd Lytell Johan,
"And that shall rewe the; 70
He is a yeman of the forèst,
To dyne he hath bode the."
Much was redy with a bolte,
Redly and anone,
He set the monke to fore the brest, 75
To the grounde that he can gone.
Of fyfty two wyght yonge men[L77]
There abode not one,
Saf a lytell page, and a grome,
To lede the somers with Johan.[L80] 80
They brought the monke to the lodge dore,
Whether he were loth or lefe,
For to speke with Robyn Hode,
Maugre in theyr tethe.
Robyn dyde adowne his hode, 85
The monke whan that he se;
The monke was not so curteyse,
His hode then let he be.
"He is a chorle, mayster, by dere worthy god,"
Than said Lytell Johan: 90
"Thereof no force," sayd Robyn,
"For curteysy can he none.
"How many men," sayd Robyn,
"Had this monke, Johan?"
"Fifty and two whan that we met, 95
But many of them be gone."
"Let blowe a horne," sayd Robyn,
"That felaushyp may us knowe;"
Seven score of wyght yemen,
Came pryckynge on a rowe. 100
And everych of them a good mantell
Of scarlet and of raye;
All they came to good Robyn,
To wyte what he wolde say.
They made the monke to washe and wype, 105
And syt at his denere,
Robyn Hode and Lytel Johan
They served him bothe in fere.[L108]
"Do gladly, monke," sayd Robyn.
"Gramercy, syr," said he. 110
"Where is your abbay, whan ye are at home,
And who is your avowè?"
"Saynt Mary abbay," sayd the monke,
"Though I be symple here."
"In what offyce?" sayd Robyn: 115
"Syr, the hye selerer."
"Ye be the more welcome," sayd Robyn,
"So ever mote I the:
Fyll of the best wyne," sayd Robyn,
"This monke shall drynke to me. 120
"But I have grete mervayle," sayd Robyn,
"Of all this longe day;
I drede our lady be wroth with me,
She sent me not my pay."
"Have no doute, mayster," sayd Lytell Johan, 125
"Ye have no nede I saye;
This monke it hath brought, I dare well swere,
For he is of her abbay."
"And she was a borowe," sayd Robyn,
"Betwene a knyght and me, 130
Of a lytell money that I hym lent,
Under the grene wode tree.
"And yf thou hast that sylver ibroughte,
I pray the let me se;
And I shall helpe the eftsones, 135
Yf thou have nede of me."[L136]
The monke swore a full grete othe,
With a sory chere,
"Of the borowehode thou spekest to me,
Herde I never ere." 140
"I make myn avowe to god," sayd Robyn,
"Monke, thou art to blame;
For god is holde a ryghtwys man,
And so is his dame.
"Thou toldest with thyn owne tonge, 145
Thou may not say nay,
How thou arte her servaunt,
And servest her every day.
"And thou art made her messengere,[L149]
My money for to pay; 150
Therefore I can the more thanke,
Thou arte come at thy day.
"What is in your cofers?" sayd Robyn,
"Trewe than tell thou me:"
"Syr," he sayd, "twenty marke, 155
Al so mote I the."
"Yf there be no more," sayd Robyn,
"I wyll not one peny;
Yf thou hast myster of ony more,
Syr, more I shall lende to the; 160
"And yf I fynde more," sayd Robyn,
"I-wys thou shalte it forgone;
For of thy spendynge sylver, monk,
Thereof wyll I ryght none.
"Go nowe forthe, Lytell Johan, 165
And the trouth tell thou me;
If there be no more but twenty marke,
No peny that I se."
Lytell Johan spred his mantell downe,
As he had done before, 170
And he tolde out of the monkes male
Eyght hundreth pounde and more.[L172]
Lytell Johan let it lye full styll,
And went to his mayster in hast;
"Syr," he sayd, "the monke is trewe ynowe, 175
Our lady hath doubled your cost."
"I make myn avowe to god," sayd Robyn,
"Monke, what tolde I the?
Our lady is the trewest womàn
That ever yet founde I me. 180
"By dere worthy god," said Robyn,
"To seche all England thorowe,
Yet founde I never to my pay
A moche better borowe.
"Fyll of the best wyne, do hym drynke," said Robyn, 185
"And grete well thy lady hende,
And yf she have nede of Robyn Hode,[L187]
A frende she shall hym fynde.
"And yf she nedeth ony more sylvèr,
Come thou agayne to me, 190
And, by this token she hath me sent,
She shall have such thre."
The monke was going to London ward,
There to holde grete mote,
The knyght that rode so hye on hors, 195
To brynge hym under fote.
"Whether be ye away?" sayd Robyn.
"Syr, to maners in this londe,
Too reken with our reves,
That have done moch wronge." 200
"Come now forth, Lytell Johan,
And harken to my tale;
A better yemen I knowe none,
To seke a monkes male."
"How much is in yonder other cofer?" said Robyn,[L205] 205
"The soth must we see:"
"By our lady," than sayd the monke,
"That were no curteysye,
"To bydde a man to dyner,
And syth hym bete and bynde." 210
"It is our olde maner," sayd Robyn,
"To leve but lytell behynde."
The monke toke the hors with spore,
No lenger wolde he abyde:
"Aske to drynke," than sayd Robyn, 215
"Or that ye forther ryde."
"Nay, for god," than sayd the monke,
"Me reweth I cam so nere;
For better chepe I myght have dyned
In Blythe or in Dankestere." 220
"Grete well your abbot," sayd Robyn,
"And your pryour, I you pray,
And byd hym send me such a monke
To dyner every day."
Now lete we that monke be styll, 225
And speke we of that knyght:
Yet he came to holde his day,
Whyle that it was lyght.
He dyde him streyt to Bernysdale,
Under the grene wode tre, 230
And he founde there Robyn Hode,
And all his mery meynè.
The knyght lyght downe of his good palfrày;
Robyn whan he gan see,
So curteysly he dyde adoune his hode, 235
And set hym on his knee.
"God the save, good Robyn Hode,
And al this company:"
"Welcome be thou, gentyll knyght,
And ryght welcome to me." 240
Than bespake hym Robyn Hode,
To that knyght so fre,
"What nede dryveth the to grene wode?
I pray the, syr knyght, tell me.
"And welcome be thou, gentyl knyght, 245
Why hast thou be so longe?"
"For the abbot and the hye justyce
Wolde have had my londe."
"Hast thou thy londe agayne?" sayd Robyn;[L249]
"Treuth than tell thou me." 250
"Ye, for god," sayd the knyght,
"And that thanke I god and the.
"But take not a grefe, I have be so longe;[L253]
I came by a wrastelynge,
And there I dyd holpe a pore yemàn, 255
With wronge was put behynde."
"Nay, for god," sayd Robyn,
"Syr knyght, that thanke I the;
What man that helpeth a good yemàn,
His frende than wyll I be." 260
"Have here foure hondred pounde," than sayd the knyght,
"The whiche ye lent to me;
And here is also twenty marke
For your curteysy."
"Nay, for god," than sayd Robyn, 265
"Thou broke it well for ay;
For our lady, by her selerer,
Hath sent to me my pay.
"And yf I toke it twyse,[L269]
A shame it were to me: 270
But trewely, gentyll knyght,
Welcom arte thou to me."
Whan Robyn had tolde his tale,
He leugh and had good chere:
"By my trouthe," then sayd the knyght. 275
"Your money is redy here."
"Broke it well," sayd Robyn,
"Thou gentyll knyght so fre;
And welcome be thou, gentill knyght,
Under my trystell tree.[L280] 280
"But what shall these bowes do?" sayd Robyn,
"And these arowes ifedered fre?"
"By god," than sayd the knyght,
"A pore present to the."