And go to my treasurè,
And brynge me there foure hondred pounde,
The monke over-tolde it me.
"Have here foure hondred pounde,
Thou gentyll knyght and trewe, 290
And bye hors and harnes good,
And gylte thy spores all newe.
"And yf thou fayle ony spendynge,
Com to Robyn Hode,
And by my trouth thou shalt none fayle, 295
The whyles I have any good.
"And broke well thy four hundred pound,
Whiche I lent to the,
And make thy selfe no more so bare,
By the counsell of me." 300
Thus than holpe hym good Robyn,
The knyght all of his care:[L302]
God, that sytteth in heven hye,[L303]
Graunte us well to fare.
19, such, W.
54, you, W. Make you yonder preste, C.
77, yemen, C.
80, Lytell Johan. O. CC.
108, them bothe, O. CC.
136, to, W.
149, nade, W. not in C.
172. Eyght pounde, W.
187, to, W.
205, corser, W. courser, C.
249, gayne, W.
253. But take not a grefe, sayd the knyght,
That I have be so longe. O. CC.
269. I twyse, W.
280, thi trusty, C.
THE FYFTH FYTTE.
Now hath the knyght his leve itake,
And wente hym on his way;
Robyn Hode and his mery men
Dwelled styll full many a day.
Lyth and lysten, gentilmen, 5
And herken what I shall say,
How the proud sheryfe of Notyngham
Dyde crye a full fayre play;
That all the best archers of the north
Sholde come upon a daye, 10
And he that shoteth altherbest[L11]
The game shall bere away.
He that shoteth altherbest[L13]
Furthest fayre and lowe,
At a payre of fynly buttes, 15
Under the grene wode shawe,
A ryght good arowe he shall have,
The shaft of sylver whyte,
The heade and the feders of ryche rede golde,
In Englond is none lyke. 20
This then herde good Robyn,
Under his trystell tre:
"Make you redy, ye wyght yonge men;
That shotynge wyll I se.
"Buske you, my mery yonge men, 25
Ye shall go with me;
And I wyll wete the shryves fayth,
Trewe and yf he be."
Whan they had theyr bowes ibent,
Theyr takles fedred fre, 30
Seven score of wyght yonge men
Stode by Robyns kne.
"Whan they cam to Notyngham,
The buttes were fayre and longe;
Many was the bolde archere 35
That shoted with bowes stronge.
"There shall but syx shote with me;
The other shal kepe my hede.
And stande with good bowes bent,
That I be not desceyved." 40
The fourth outlawe his bowe gan bende,
And that was Robyn Hode,
And that behelde the proude sheryfe,
All by the but he stode.
Thryes Robyn shot about, 45
And alway he slist the wand,[L46]
And so dyde good Gylberte
With the whyte hande.
Lytell Johan and good Scatheloke
Were archers good and fre; 50
Lytell Much and good Reynolde,
The worste wolde they not be.
Whan they had shot aboute,
These archours fayre and good,
Evermore was the best, 55
Forsoth, Robyn Hode.
Hym was delyvered the goode aròw,
For best worthy was he;
He toke the yeft so curteysly,
To grene wode wolde he. 60
They cryed out on Robyn Hode,
And great hornes gan they blowe:
"Wo worth the, treason!" sayd Robyn,
"Full evyl thou art to knowe.
"And wo be thou, thou proud sheryf, 65
Thus gladdynge thy gest;
Other wyse thou behote me
In yonder wylde forest.
"But had I the in grene wode,
Under my trystell tre, 70
Thou sholdest leve me a better wedde
Than thy trewe lewtè."
Full many a bowe there was bent,
And arowes let they glyde,
Many a kyrtell there was rent, 75
And hurt many a syde.
The outlaws shot was so stronge,
That no man myght them dryve,
And the proud sheryfes men
They fled away full blyve.[L80] 80
Robyn sawe the busshement to-broke,
In grene wode he wolde have be;
Many an arowe there was shot
Amonge that company.
Lytell Johan was hurte full sore, 85
With an arowe in his kne,
That he myght neyther go nor ryde;
It was full grete pytè.
"Mayster," then sayd Lytell Johan,
"If ever thou lovest me, 90
And for that ylke lordes love,
That dyed upon a tre,
"And for the medes of my servyce,
That I have served the,
Lete never the proude sheryf 95
Alyve now fynde me.
"But take out thy browne swerde,
And smyte all of my hede,
And gyve me woundes dede and wyde,
No lyfe on me be lefte."[L100] 100
"I wolde not that," sayd Robyn,
"Johan, that thou were slawe,
For all the golde in mery Englond,
Though it lay now on a rawe."
"God forbede," sayd lytell Much, 105
"That dyed on a tre,
That thou sholdest, Lytell Johan,
Parte our company."
Up he toke him on his backe,
And bare hym well a myle; 110
Many a tyme he layd hym downe,
And shot another whyle.
Then was there a fayre castèll,
A lytell within the wode,
Double-dyched it was about, 115
And walled, by the rode.
And there dwelled that gentyll knyght,
Syr Richard at the Lee,
That Robyn had lent his good,
Under the grene wode tree. 120
In he toke good Robyn,
And all his company;
"Welcome be thou, Robyn Hode,
Welcome arte thou me;
"And moche [I] thanke the of thy comfort, 125
And of thy curteysye,
And of thy grete kyndenesse,
Under the grene wode tre.
"I love no man in all this worlde
So much as I do the; 130
For all the proud sheryf of Notyngham,
Ryght here shalt thou be.
"Shyt the gates, and drawe the bridge,
And let no man com in;
And arme you well, and make you redy, 135
And to the walle ye wynne.
"For one thyng, Robyn, I the behote,
I swere by saynt Quyntyn,
These twelve dayes thou wonest with me,
To suppe, ete, and dyne." 140
Bordes were layed, and clothes spred,
Reddely and anone;
Robyn Hode and his mery men
To mete gan they gone.
302, this care, W.
303, syt, W.
11. And that shoteth al ther best, W. And they that shote al of the
best, C.
13, al theyre, W. al of the, C.
46, they slist, W. he clefte, C.
80, belyve, C.
100. That I after eate no bread, C.
THE SYXTE FYTTE.
Lythe and lysten, gentylmen,
And herken unto your songe,
How the proude sheryfe of Notyngham,
And men of armes stronge,
Full faste came to the hye sheryfe, 5
The countre up to rout,
And they beset the knyghts castèll,
The walles all about.
The proude sheryfe loude gan crye,
And sayd, "Thou traytour knyght, 10
Thou kepeste here the kynges enemye,
Agayne the lawes and ryght."
"Syr, I wyll avowe that I have done,
The dedes that here be dyght,[L14]
Upon all the londes that I have, 15
As I am a trewe knyght.
"Wende forthe, syrs, on your waye,
And doth do more to me,
Tyll ye wytte our kynges wyll,
What he woll say to the." 20
The sheref thus had his answere,
With out ony leasynge;
Forthe he yode to London toune,
All for to tel our kynge.
There he tolde hym of that knyght, 25
And eke of Robyn Hode,
And also of the bolde archeres,
That noble were and good.
"He wolde avowe that he had done,
To mayntayne the outlawes stronge, 30
He wolde be lorde, and set you at nought,
In all the north londe."
"I woll be at Notyngham," sayd the kynge,
"Within this fourtynyght,
And take I wyll Robyn Hode, 35
And so I wyll that knyght.
"Go home, thou proud sheryf,
And do as I bydde the,[L38]
And ordayne good archeres inowe
Of all the wyde countree." 40
The sheryf had his leve itake,
And went hym on his way;
And Robyn Hode to grene wode [went]
Upon a certayn day.
And Lytell Johan was hole of the arowe, 45
That shote was in his kne,
And dyde hym strayte to Robyn Hode,
Under the grene wode tre.
Robyn Hode walked in the foreste,
Under the leves grene; 50
The proud sheryfe of Notyngham,
Therfore he had grete tene.
The sheryf there fayled of Robyn Hode,
He myght not have his pray;
Then he awayted that gentyll knyght, 55
Bothe by nyght and by daye.
Ever he awayted that gentyll knyght,
Syr Rychard at the Lee;
As he went on haukynge by the ryver syde
And let his haukes flee, 60
Toke he there this gentyll knyght,
With men of armes stronge,
And lad hym home to Notyngham warde,
Ibonde both fote and honde.[L64]
The sheryf swore a full grete othe, 65
By hym that dyed on rode,[L66]
He had lever than an hondrede pounde,
That he had Robyn Hode.
Then the lady, the knyghtes wyfe,
A fayre lady and fre, 70
She set her on a gode palfrày,
To grene wode anon rode she.
When she came to the forèst,
Under the grene wode tre,
Founde she there Robyn Hode, 75
And all his fayre meynè.
"God the save, good Robyn Hode,[L77]
And all thy company;
For our dere ladyes love,[L79]
A bone graunte thou me. 80
"Let thou never my wedded lorde[L81]
Shamfully slayne to be;[L82]
He is fast ibounde to Notyngham warde,
For the love of the."
Anone then sayd good Robyn, 85
To that lady fre,
"What man hath your lorde itake?"
"The proude shirife," than sayd she.[L88]
["The proude sheryfe hath hym itake]
Forsoth as I the say; 90
He is not yet thre myles
Passed on his waye."[L92]
Up then sterte good Robyn,
As a man that had be wode;
"Buske you, my mery young men, 95
For hym that dyed on a rode.
"And he that this sorowe forsaketh,
By hym that dyed on a tre,
And by him that al thinges maketh,[L99]
No lenger shall dwell with me."[L100] 100
Sone there were good bowes ibent,
Mo than seven score,
Hedge ne dyche spared they none,
That was them before.
"I make myn avowe to god," sayd Robyn, 105
"The sheryf wolde I fayn se,[L106]
And yf I may hym take,
Iquyt than shall he bee."[L108]
And whan they came to Notyngham,
They walked in the strete, 110
And with the proud sheryf, i-wys,
Sone gan they mete.
"Abyde, thou proud sheryf," he sayd,
"Abyde and speake with me,
Of some tydynges of our kynge, 115
I wolde fayne here of the.
"This seven yere, by dere worthy god,
Ne yede I so fast on fote;
I make myn avowe to god, thou proude sheryfe,
That is not for thy good."[L120] 120
Robyn bent a good bowe,
An arrowe he drewe at his wyll,
He hyt so the proud sheryf,
Upon the ground he lay full styll.
And or he myght up aryse, 125
On his fete to stonde,
He smote of the sheryves hede,
With his bryght bronde.
"Lye thou there, thou proude sheryf,
Evyll mote thou thryve; 130
There myght no man to the trust,
The whyles thou were alyve."
His men drewe out theyr bryght swerdes,
That were so sharpe and kene,
And layde on the sheryves men, 135
And dryved them downe bydene.
Robyn stert to that knyght,
And cut a two his bonde,[L138]
And toke hym in his hand a bowe,
And bade hym by hym stonde. 140
"Leve thy hors the behynde,
And lerne for to renne;
Thou shalt with me to grene wode,
Through myre, mosse, and fenne.
"Thou shalt with me to grene wode, 145
Without ony leasynge,
Tyll that I have gete us grace
Of Edwarde, our comly kynge."
14, thou, W.
38, the bydde, OCC.
64, honde and fote, W. foote and hande, C.
66, on a tre, R. rode, Ch. & M.
77. God the good Robyn, W.
79, lady, W.
81. Late.
82. Shamly I slayne be, W.
88. Forsoth as I the say, W.
92, your waye, W. You may them over take, C.
99, 100. Shall he never in grene wode be,
Nor longer dwell with me. W.
106, sherif, Ch. & M. knyght, R.
108, it, W.
120. At, W. That, C. boote for good, Wh.
138, hoode, W. bande, C.
THE SEVENTH FYTTE.
The kynge came to Notynghame,
With knyghtes in grete araye,
For to take that gentyll knyght
And Robyn Hode, yf he may.[L4]
He asked men of that countrè, 5
After Robyn Hode,
And after that gentyll knyght,
That was so bolde and stout.
Whan they had tolde hym the case
Our kynge understonde ther tale, 10
And seased in his honde
The knyghtes londes all.
All the passe of Lancasshyre
He went both ferre and nere;
Tyll he came to Plomton parke,[L15] 15
He faylyd many of his dere.
There our kynge was wont to se
Herdes many one,
He coud unneth fynde one dere,
That bare ony good horne. 20
The kynge was wonder wroth withall,
And swore by the trynytè,
"I wolde I had Robyn Hode,
With eyen I myght hym se.
"And he that wolde smyte of the knyghtes hede, 25
And brynge it to me,
He shall have the knyghtes londes,
Syr Rycharde at the Le.
"I gyve it hym with my chartèr,
And sele it with my honde, 30
To have and holde for ever-more,
In all mery Englonde."
Than bespake a fayre olde knyght,
That was treue in his fay,
"A, my lege lorde the kynge, 35
One worde I shall you say;
"There is no man in this countrè
May have the knyghtes londes,
Whyle Robyn Hode may ryde or gone,
And bere a bowe in his hondes, 40
"That he ne shall lese his hede,
That is the best ball in his hode:
Give it no man, my lorde the kynge,
That ye wyll any good."
Half a yere dwelled our comly kynge 45
In Notyngham, and well more;
Coude he not here of Robyn Hode,
In what countre that he were.
But alway went good Robyn
By halke and eke by hyll, 50
And alway slewe the kynges dere,
And welt them at his wyll.
Than bespake a proude fostere,
That stode by our kynges kne,
"If ye wyll se good Robyn, 55
Ye must do after me.
"Take fyve of the best knyghtes
That be in your lede,
And walk downe by yon abbay,[L59]
And gete you monkes wede. 60
"And I wyll be your ledes man,
And lede you the way,
And or ye come to Notyngham,
Myn hede then dare I lay,
"That ye shall mete with good Robyn, 65
On lyve yf that he be;
Or ye come to Notyngham,
With eyen ye shall hym se."
Full hastly our kynge was dyght,
So were his knyghtes fyve, 70
Everych of them in monkes wede,
And hasted them thyder blyve.[L72]
Our kynge was grete above his cole,
A brode hat on his crowne,
Ryght as he were abbot-lyke, 75
They rode up in-to the towne.
Styf botes our kynge had on,
Forsoth as I you say;
He rode syngynge to grene wode,
The covent was clothed in graye. 80
His male hors and his grete somèrs
Folowed our kynge behynde,
Tyll they came to grene wode,
A myle under the lynde.
There they met with good Robyn, 85
Stondynge on the waye,
And so dyde many a bolde archere,
For soth as I you say.
Robyn toke the kynges hors,
Hastely in that stede, 90
And sayd, "Syr abbot, by your leve,
A whyle ye must abyde.
"We be yemen of this foreste,
Under the grene wode tre;
We lyve by our kynges dere, 95
Other shyft have not we.[L96]
"And ye have chyrches and rentes both,
And gold full grete plentè;
Gyve us some of your spendynge,
For saynt Charytè." 100
Than bespake our cumly kynge,
Anone than sayd he,
"I brought no more to grene wode,
But forty pounde with me.
"I have layne at Notyngham, 105
This fourtynyght with our kynge,
And spent I have full moche good,
On many a grete lordynge.
"And I have but forty pounde,
No more than have I me; 110
But yf I had an hondred pounde,
I would geve it to the."[L112]
Robyn toke the forty pounde,
And departed it in two partye,
Halfendell he gave his mery men, 115
And bad them mery to be.
Full curteysly Robyn gan say,
"Syr, have this for your spendyng;
We shall mete another day."
"Gramercy," than sayd our kynge; 120
"But well the greteth Edwarde our kynge,
And sent to the his seale,
And byddeth the com to Notyngham,
Both to mete and mele."
He toke out the brode tarpe,[L125] 125
And sone he lete hym se;
Robyn coud his courteysy,
And set hym on his kne.
"I love no man in all the worlde
So well as I do my kynge. 130
Welcome is my lordes seale;
And, monke, for thy tydynge,
"Syr abbot, for thy tydynges,
To day thou shalt dyne with me,
For the love of my kynge, 135
Under my trystell tre."
Forth he lad our comly kynge,
Full fayre by the honde;
Many a dere there was slayne,
And full fast dyghtande. 140
Robyn toke a full grete horne,
And loude he gan blowe;
Seven score of wyght yonge men
Came redy on a rowe.
All they kneeled on theyr kne, 145
Full fayre before Robyn:
The kynge sayd hymselfe untyll,
And swore by saynt Austyn,
"Here is a wonder semely syght;
Me thynketh, by goddes pyne, 150
His men are more at his byddynge,
Then my men be at myn."
Full hastly was theyr dyner idyght,
And therto gan they gone;
They served our kynge with al theyr myght, 155
Both Robyn and Lytell Johan.
Anone before our kynge was set
The fatte venyson,
The good whyte brede, the good red wyne,
And therto the fyne ale browne.[L160] 160
"Make good chere," said Robyn,
"Abbot, for charytè;
And for this ylke tydynge,
Blyssed mote thou be.
"Now shalte thou se what life we lede, 165
Or thou hens wende;
Than thou may enfourme our kynge,
Whan ye togyder lende."
Up they sterte all in hast,
Theyr bowes were smartly bent; 170
Our kynge was never so sore agast,
He wende to have be shente.
Two yerdes there were up set,
There to gan they gange;
By fifty pase, our kynge sayd, 175
The merkes were to longe.
On every syde a rose garlonde,
They shot under the lyne:
"Who so fayleth of the rose garlonde," sayd Robyn,
"His takyll he shall tyne, 180
"And yelde it to his mayster,
Be it never so fyne;
For no man wyll I spare,
So drynke I ale or wyne;--
"And bere a buffet on his hede, 185
I-wys right all bare:"[L186]
And all that fell in Robyns lote,
He smote them wonder sare.
Twyse Robyn shot aboute,
And ever he cleved the wande, 190
And so dyde good Gylberte
With the Whyte Hand.[L192]
Lytell Johan and good Scathelocke,
For nothynge wolde they spare,
When they fayled of the garlonde, 195
Robyn smote them full sare.
At the last shot that Robyn shot,
For all his frendes fare,
Yet he fayled of the garlonde,
Thre fyngers and mare. 200
Than bespake good Gylberte,
And thus he gan say;
"Mayster," he sayd, "your takyll is lost,
Stand forth and take your pay."
"If it be so," sayd Robyn, 205
"That may no better be;
Syr abbot, I delyver the myn arowe,
I pray the, syr, serve thou me."
"It falleth not for myn order," sayd our kynge,
"Robyn, by thy leve, 210
For to smyte no good yemàn,
For doute I sholde hym greve."
"Smyte on boldely," sayd Robyn,
"I give the large leve:"
Anone our kynge, with that worde, 215
He folde up his sleve,
And sych a buffet he gave Robyn,
To grounde he yede full nere.
"I make myn avowe to god," sayd Robyn,
"Thou arte a stalworthe frere. 220
"There is pith in thyn arme," sayd Robyn,
"I trowe thou canst well shote;"
Thus our kynge and Robyn Hode
Togeder than they met.
Robyn behelde our comly kynge 225
Wystly in the face,
So dyde syr Richarde at the Le,
And kneled downe in that place;
And so dyde all the wylde outlawes,
Whan they se them knele: 230
"My lorde the kynge of Englonde,
Now I knowe you well.
"Mercy," then Robyn sayd to our kynge,
Under his trystyll tre,[L234]
"Of thy goodnesse and thy grace, 235
For my men and me!
"Yes, for god," sayd Robyn,
"And also god me save;
I aske mercy, my lorde the kynge,
And for my men I crave." 240
"Yes, for god," than sayd our kynge,
"Thy peticion I graunt the,
With that thou leve the grene wode,
And all thy company;
"And come home, syr, to my courte, 245
And there dwell with me."[L246]
"I make myn avowe to god," sayd Robyn,
"And ryght so shall it be.
"I wyll come to your courte,
Your servyse for to se, 250
And brynge with me of my men
Seven score and thre.
"But me lyke well your servyse,
I come agayne full soone,
And shote at the donne dere, 255
As I am wonte to done."
4, and yf, W.
15. Not in Cumberland, as Ritson states, but, says Hunter, a part of
the forest of Knaresborough, in Yorkshire.
59, your, OCC.
72, blyth, Ritson.
96. Under the grene wode tre, W.
112. I vouche it halfe on the, W.
125, seale, C.
160, and browne, W.
186. A wys, W. For that shall be his fyne, C.
192, good whyte, W. lilly white, C.
234. Your, Ritson.
246. And therto sent I me, W.
THE EIGHTH FYTTE.
"Haste thou ony grene cloth," sayd our kynge,
"That thou wylte sell now to me?"
"Ye, for god," sayd Robyn,
"Thyrty yerdes and thre."
"Robyn," sayd our kynge, 5
"Now pray I the,
To sell me some of that cloth,
To me and my meynè."
"Yes, for god," then sayd Robyn,[L9]
"Or elles I were a fole; 10
Another day ye wyll me clothe,[L11]
I trowe, ayenst the Yole."[L12]
The kynge kest of his cote then,
A grene garment he dyde on,
And every knyght did so, i-wys,[L15] 15
They clothed them full soone.[L16]
Whan they were clothed in Lyncolne grene,
They kest away theyr graye;
"Now we shall to Notyngham,"
All thus our kynge gan say. 20
Theyr bowes bente and forth they went,
Shotynge all in-fere,
Towarde the towne of Notyngham,
Outlawes as they were.
Our kynge and Robyn rode togyder, 25
For soth as I you say,
And they shote plucke-buffet,
As they went by the way.
And many a buffet our kynge wan
Of Robyn Hode that day; 30
And nothynge spared good Robyn
Our kynge in his pay.
"So god me helpe," sayd our kynge,
"Thy game is nought to lere;
I sholde not get a shote of the, 35
Though I shote all this yere."
All the people of Notyngham
They stode and behelde;
They sawe nothynge but mantels of grene
That covered all the felde. 40
Than every man to other gan say,
"I drede our kynge be slone;
Come Robyn Hode to the towne i-wys,
On lyve he leveth not one."[L44]
Full hastly they began to fle, 45
Both yemen and knaves,
And olde wyves that myght evyll goo,
They hypped on theyr staves.
The kynge loughe full fast,[L49]
And commanded theym agayne; 50
When they se our comly kynge,
I-wys they were full fayne.
They ete and dranke, and made them glad,
And sange with notes hye;
Than bespake our comly kynge 55
To syr Rycharde at the Lee.
He gave hym there his londe agayne,
A good man he bad hym be;
Robyn thanked our comly kynge,
And set hym on his kne. 60
Had Robyn dwelled in the kynges courte
But twelve monethes and thre,
That he had spent an hondred pounde,
And all his mennes fe.
In every place where Robyn came 65
Evermore he layde downe,
Both for knyghtes and for squyres,
To gete hym grete renowne.
By than the yere was all agone
He had no man but twayne, 70
Lytell Johan and good Scathelocke,
Wyth hym all for to gone.
Robyn sawe yonge men shote,
Full fayre upon a day;[L74]
"Alas!" than sayd good Robyn,[L75] 75
"My welthe is went away.
"Somtyme I was an archere good,
A styffe and eke a stronge;
I was commytted the best archere
That was in mery Englonde. 80
"Alas!" then sayd good Robyn,
"Alas and well a woo!
Yf I dwele lenger with the kynge,
Sorowe wyll me sloo."
Forth than went Robyn Hode 85
Tyll he came to our kynge;
"My lorde the kynge of Englonde,
Graunte me myn askynge.
"I made a chapell in Bernysdale,
That semely is to se, 90
It is of Mary Magdalene,
And thereto wolde I be.
"I myght never in this seven nyght
No tyme to slepe ne wynke,
Nother all these seven dayes 95
Nother ete ne drynke.
"Me longeth sore to Bernysdale,
I may not be therfro;
Barefote and wolwarde I have hyght
Thyder for to go." 100
"Yf it be so," than sayd our kynge,
"It may no better be;
Seven nyght I gyve the leve,
No lengre, to dwell fro me."
"Gramercy, lorde," then sayd Robyn, 105
And set hym on his kne;
He toke his leve full courteysly,
To grene wode then went he.
Whan he came to grene wode,
In a mery mornynge, 110
There he herde the notes small
Of byrdes mery syngynge.
"It is ferre gone," sayd Robyn,
"That I was last here;
Me lyste a lytell for to shote 115
At the donne dere."
Robyn slewe a full grete harte,
His horne than gan he blow,
That all the outlawes of that forèst,
That horne coud they knowe 120
And gadred them togyder,
In a lytell throwe;
Seven score of wight yonge men
Came redy on a rowe,
And fayre dyde of theyr hodes, 125
And set them on theyr kne:
"Welcome," they sayd, "our maystèr,
Under this grene wode tre."
Robyn dwelled in grene wode
Twenty yere and two; 130
For all drede of Edwarde our kynge,
Agayne wolde he not goo.
Yet he was begyled, i-wys,
Through a wycked womàn,
The pryoresse of Kyrkesly,[L135] 135
That nye was of hys kynne;
For the love of a knyght,
Syr Roger of Donkestèr,[L138]
That was her owne speciall,
Full evyll mote they fare.[L140] 140
They toke togyder theyr counsell
Robyn Hode for to sle,
And how they myght best do that dede,
His banis for to be.
Than bespake good Robyn, 145
In place where as he stode,
"Tomorow I muste to Kyrkesley,
Craftely to be leten blode."
Syr Roger of Donkestere,
By the pryoresse he lay, 150
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 outlawe, 155
And dyde pore men moch god.
9, good, OCC.
11, 12. "This alludes to the usual issue of winter robes from the
king's wardrobe to the officers of his household."
HUNTER.
15, had, Ritson.
16. Another had full sone, W.
44. Lefte never one, W.
49, lughe, W.
74, ferre, W.
75, commended for, C.
135. The little convent of Kirklees lay between Wakefield and
Halifax. HUNTER.
138, donkesley, W.
140, the, OCC.
ADAM BEL, CLYM OF THE CLOUGHE, AND WYLLYAM OF CLOUDESLÈ.
This favorite and delightful ballad was printed by William Copland,
without date, but probably not far from 1550. Only a single copy of
this edition is known to be preserved. There is another edition by
James Roberts, printed in 1605, with a second part entitled _Young
Cloudeslee_, "a very inferior and servile production," says Ritson.
Mr. Payne Collier has recently recovered a fragment of an excellent
edition considerably older than Copland's.
_Adam Bell, &c._, was also entered at Stationers' Hall in 1557-8, as
licensed to John King. Another entry occurs in the same registers
under 1582, and in 1586 mention is made of "A ballad of Willm.
Clowdisley never printed before." No one of these three impressions is
known to be extant.