5_The English and Scottish popular ballads, volume 3 (of 5)

He tooke, he tooke him up a,

All by the lilly-white hand,

And set him on his feet,

And bad him stand, hey ho.

He gave to him a benbow,

Made all of a trusty tree,

And arrowës in his hand,

And bad him let them flee.

And shoote was that that a did a,

Some say he shot a mile,

But halfe a mile and more

Was it, was it, hey ho.

And at the halfe miles end,

There stood an armed man;

The childe he shot him through,

And through and through, hey ho.[76]

His beard was all on a white a,

As white as whale is bone,

His eyes they were as cleare

As christall stone, hey ho.

And there of him they made

Good yeoman, Robin Rood,

Scarlet, and Little John,

And Little John, hey ho.

302–05. The Klepht Giphtakis, wounded in knee and hand, exclaims: Where

are you, my brother, my friend? Come back and take me off, or take off

my head, lest the Turk should do so, and carry it to that dog of an Ali

Pacha. (1790. Fauriel, I, 20; Zambelios, p. 621, No 32; Passow, p. 52,

No 61.)

357–59. The king traverses the whole length of Lancashire and proceeds

to Plumpton Park, missing many of his deer. Camden, Britannia, II, 175,

ed. 1772, places Plumpton Park on the bank of the Petterel, in

Cumberland, east of Inglewood. (Hunter, p. 30, citing no authority, says

it was part of the forest of Knaresborough, in Yorkshire.) Since this

survey makes the king wroth with Robin Hood, we must give a

corresponding extent to Robin’s operations. And we remember that Wyntoun

says that he exercised his profession in Inglewood and Barnsdale.

371 ff. The story of the seventh fit has a general similitude to the

extensive class of tales, mostly jocular, represented by ‘The King and

the Miller;’ as to which, see further on.

403–09. The sport of “pluck-buffet” (424^3) is a feature in the romance

of Richard Cœur de Lion, 762–98, Weber, II, 33 f. Richard is betrayed to

the king of Almayne by a minstrel to whom he had given a cold reception,

and is put in prison. The king’s son, held the strongest man of the

land, visits the prisoner, and proposes to him an exchange of this sort.

The prince gives Richard a clout which makes fire spring from his eyes,

and goes off laughing, ordering Richard to be well fed, so that he may

have no excuse for returning a feeble blow when he takes his turn. The

next day, when the prince comes for his payment, Richard, who has waxed

his hand by way of preparation, delivers a blow which breaks the young

champion’s cheek-bone and fells him dead. There is another instance in

‘The Turke and Gowin,’ Percy MS., Hales and Furnivall, I, 91 ff.

414–450. Robin Hood is pardoned by King Edward on condition of his

leaving the greenwood with all his company, and taking service at court.

In the course of a twelvemonth,[77] keeping up his old profusion, Robin

has spent not only all his own money, but all his men’s, in treating

knights and squires, and at the end of the year all his band have

deserted him save John and Scathlock. About this time, chancing to see

young men shooting, the recollection of his life in the woods comes over

him so powerfully that he feels that he shall die if he stays longer

with the king. He therefore affects to have made a vow to go to

Barnsdale “barefoot and woolward.” Upon this plea he obtains from the

king leave of absence for a week, and, once more in the forest, never

reports for duty in two and twenty years.

Hunter, who could have identified Pigrogromitus and Quinapalus, if he

had given his mind to it, sees in this passage, and in what precedes it

of King Edward’s trip to Nottingham, a plausible semblance of historical

reality.[78] Edward II, as may be shown from Rymer’s Fœdera, made a

progress in the counties of York, Lancaster, and Nottingham, in the

latter part of the year 1323. He was in Yorkshire in August and

September, in Lancashire in October, at Nottingham November 9–23,

spending altogether five or six weeks in that neighborhood, and leaving

it a little before Christmas. “Now it will scarcely be believed, but it

is, nevertheless, the plain and simple truth, that in documents

preserved in the Exchequer, containing accounts of expenses in the

king’s household, we find the name of Robyn Hode, not once, but several

times occurring, receiving, with about eight and twenty others, the pay

of 3_d._ a day, as one of the ‘vadlets, porteurs de la chambre’ of the

king;” these entries running from March 24, 1324, to November 22 of the

same year. There are entries of payments to vadlets during the year

preceding, but unluckily the accountant has put down the sums in gross,

without specifying the names of persons who received regular wages.

This, as Hunter remarks, does not quite prove that Robyn Hode had not

been among these persons before Christmas, 1323, but, on the other hand,

account-book evidence is lacking to show that he had been. Hunter’s

interpretation of the data is that Robyn Hode entered the king’s service

at Nottingham a little before Christmas, 1323. If this was so, his

career as porter was not only brief, but pitiably checkered. His pay is

docked for five days’ absence in May, again for eight days in August,

then for fifteen days in October. “He was growing weary of his new mode

of life.” Seven days, once more, are deducted in November, and under the

22d of that month we find this entry: Robyn Hode, jadys un des porteurs,

poar cas qil ne poait pluis travailler de donn par comandement, v. s.

After this his name no longer appears.

A simple way of reading the Exchequer documents is that one Robert Hood,

some time (and, for aught we know, a long time) porter in the king’s

household, after repeatedly losing time, was finally discharged, with a

present of five shillings, because he could not do his work. To detect

“a remarkable coincidence between the ballad and the record” requires

not only a theoretical prepossession, but an uncommon insensibility to

the ludicrous.[79] But taking things with entire seriousness, there is

no correspondence between the ballad and the record other than this:

that Robin Hood, who is in the king’s service, leaves it; in the one

instance deserting, and in the other being displaced. Hunter himself

does not, as in the case of Adam Bell, insist that the name Robin Hood

is “peculiar.” He cites, p. 10, a Robert Hood, citizen of London, who

supplied the king’s household with beer, 28 Edward I, and a Robert Hood

of Wakefield, twice mentioned, 9, 10 Edward II.[80] Another Robert Hood

at Throckelawe, Northumbria, is thrice mentioned in the Exchequer Rolls,

Edward I, 19, 20, 30: Rot. Orig. in Cur. Scac. Abbrev., I, 69, 73, 124.

A Robert Hood is manucaptor for a burgess returned from Lostwithiel,

Cornwall, 7 Edward II, Parliamentary Writs, II, 1019, and another, of

Howden, York, 10 Edward III, is noted in the Calendar of Patent Rolls,

p. 125, No 31, cited by Ritson. In all these we have six Robin Hoods

between 30 Edward I and 10 Edward III, a period of less than forty

years.

433, 435–50 are translated by A. Grün, p. 166.

* * * * *

#a.# 1

Lythe and listin, ge_n_tilmen,

Th_a_t be of frebore blode;

I shall you tel of a gode yema_n_,

His name was Roby_n_ Hode.

Roby_n_ was a p_r_ude outlaw,

[Whyles he walked on grounde;

So curteyse an outlawe] as he was one

Was never non fou_n_de.

Roby_n_ stode i_n_ Bernesdale,

And lenyd hy_m_ to a tre;

And bi hy_m_ stode Litell John_n_,

A gode yeman was he.

And alsoo dyd gode Scarlok,

And Much, the miller’s so_n_;

There was none ynch of his bodi

But it was worth a grome.

Than bespake Lytell John_n_

All vntoo Robyn Hode:

Maister, and ye wolde dyne betyme

It wolde doo you moche gode.

Tha_n_ bespake hy_m_ gode Robyn:

To dyne haue I noo lust,

Till that I haue so_m_ bolde baro_n_,

Or som vnkouth gest.

. . . . . . .

That may pay for the best,

Or som knyght or [som] squyer,

That dwelleth here bi west.

A gode maner tha_n_ had Robyn;

In londe where th_a_t he were,

Euery day or he wold dyne

Thre messis wolde he here.

The one i_n_ the worship of the Fad_er_,

And another of the Holy Gost,

The thirde of Our derë Lady,

That he loued allther moste.

Roby_n_ loued Oure derë Lady;

For dout of dydly synne,

Wolde he neuer do co_m_pani harme

Th_a_t any woma_n_ was i_n_.

‘Maistar,’ tha_n_ sayde Lytil John_n_,

‘And we our borde shal sprede,

Tell vs wheder th_a_t we shal go,

And what life th_a_t we shall lede.

‘Where we shall take, where we shall leue,

Where we shall abide behy_n_de;

Where we shall robbe, where we shal reue,

Where we shal bete and bynde.’

‘Therof no force,’ than sayde Robyn;

‘We shall do well inowe;

But loke ye do no husbonde harme,

That tilleth with his ploughe.

‘No more ye shall no gode yeman

That walketh by grenë-wode shawe;

Ne no knyght ne no squyer

Th_a_t wol be a gode felawe.

‘These bisshopp_es_ and these archebishopp_es_,

Ye shall them bete and bynde;

The hyë sherif of Notyingham,

Hym holde ye in your mynde.’

‘This worde shalbe holde,’ sayde Lytell John_n_,

‘And this lesson we shall lere;

It is fer dayes; God sende vs a gest,

That we were at oure dynere!’

‘Take thy gode bowe in thy ho_n_de,’ sayde Rob[yn];

‘Late Much we_n_de w_i_t_h_ the;

And so shal Willya_m_ Scarlo[k],

And no man abyde with me.

‘And walke vp to the Saylis,

And so to Watli_n_ge Stret[e],

And wayte after some vnkuth gest,

Vp chaunce ye may the_m_ mete.

‘Be he erle, or ani baro_n_,

Abbot, or ani knyght,

Bringhe hym to lodge to me;

His dyner shall be dight.’

They wente vp to the Saylis,

These yeman all thre;

They loked est, they loke[d] weest;

They myght no man see.

But as they loked i_n_ to Bernysdale,

Bi a dernë 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 wauyd beside.

His hode hanged in his iyn two;

He rode in symple aray;

A soriar man than he was one

Rode neuer in somer day.

Litell John_n_ was full curteyes,

And sette hym on his kne:

‘Welcom be ye, gentyll knyght,

Welcom ar ye to me.

‘Welcom be thou to grenë wode,

Hendë knyght and fre;

My maister hath abide_n_ you fastinge,

Syr, al these ourës thre.’

‘Who is thy maister?’ sayde the knyght;

John_n_ sayde, Robyn Hode;

‘He is [a] gode yoman,’ sayde the knyght,

‘Of hym I haue herde moche gode.

‘I graunte,’ he sayde, ‘with you to wende,

My bretherne, all in fere;

My purpos was to haue dyned to day

At Blith or Dancastere.’

Furth than went this gentyl knight,

With a carefull chere;

The teris oute of his iyen ran,

And fell downe by his lere.

They brought hym to the lodgë-dore;

Whan Robyn hym gan see,

Full curtesly dyd of his hode

And sette hym on his knee.

‘Welcome, sir knight,’ than sayde Robyn,

‘Welcome art thou to me;

I haue abyden you fastinge, sir,

All these ouris thre.’

Than answered the gentyll knight,

With wordës fayre and fre;

God the saue, goode Robyn,

And all thy fayre meynë.

They wasshed togeder and wyped bothe,

And sette to theyr dynere;

Brede and wyne they had right ynoughe,

And noumbles of the dere.

Swannes and fessauntes they had full gode,

And foules of the ryuere;

There fayled none so litell a birde

That euer was bred on bryre.

‘Do gladly, sir knight,’ sayde Robyn;

‘Gramarcy, sir,’ sayde he;

‘Suche a dinere had I nat

Of all these wekys thre.

‘If I come ageyne, Robyn,

Here by thys contrë,

As gode a dyner I shall the make

As that thou haest made to me.’

‘Gramarcy, knyght,’ sayde Robyn;

‘My dyner whan that I it haue,

I was neuer so gredy, bi dere worthy God,

My dyner for to craue.

‘But pay or ye wende,’ sayde Robyn;

‘Me thynketh it is gode ryght;

It was neuer the maner, by dere worthi God,

A yoman to pay for a knyhht.’

‘I haue nought i_n_ my coffers,’ saide the knyght,

‘That I may prefer for shame:’

‘Litell John_n_, go loke,’ sayde Robyn,

‘Ne let nat for no blame.

‘Tel me truth,’ than saide Robyn,

‘So God haue parte of the:’

‘I haue no more but ten shelynges,’ sayde the knyght,

‘So God haue parte of me.’

If thou hast no more,’ sayde Robyn,

‘I woll nat one peny;

And yf thou haue nede of any more,

More shall I lend the.

‘Go nowe furth, Littell John_n_,

The truth tell thou me;

If there be no more but ten shelinges,

No peny that I se.’

Lyttell John_n_ sprede downe hys mantell

Full fayre vpon the grounde,

And there he fonde in the knyghtës cofer

But euen halfe [a] pounde.

Littell John_n_ let it lye full styll,

And went to hys maysteer [full] lowe;

‘What tidyngës, John_n_?’ sayde Robyn;

‘Sir, the knyght is true inowe.’

‘Fyll of the best wine,’ sayde Robyn,

‘The knyght shall begynne;

Moche wo_n_der thi_n_keth me

Thy clot[h]ynge is so thin[n]e.

‘Tell me [one] worde,’ sayde Robyn,

‘And counsel shal it be;

I trowe thou warte made a knyght of force,

Or ellys of yemanry.

‘Or ellys thou hast bene a sori husbande,

And lyued in stroke and stryfe;

An okerer, or ellis a lechoure,’ sayde Robyn,

‘Wyth wronge hast led thy lyfe.’

‘I am none of those,’ sayde the knyght,

‘By God that madë me;

An hundred wy_n_ter here before

Myn auncetres knyghtes haue be.

‘But oft it hath befal, Robyn,

A man hath be disgrate;

But God that sitteth in heuen aboue

May amende his state.

‘Withyn this two yere, Robyne,’ he sayde,

‘My neghbours well it knowe,

Foure hundred pounde of gode money

Ful well than myght I spende.

‘Nowe haue I no gode,’ saide the knyght,

‘God hath shaped such an ende,

But my chyldren and my wyfe,

Tyll God yt may amende.’

‘In what maner,’ than sayde Robyn,

‘Hast thou lorne thy rychesse? ’

‘For my greatë foly,’ he sayde,

‘And for my kynd[ë]nesse.

‘I hade a sone, forsoth, Robyn,

That shulde hau[e] ben myn ayre,

Whanne he was twenty wynter olde,

In felde wolde iust full fayre.

‘He slewe a knyght of Lancaster,

And a squyer bolde;

For to saue hym in his ryght

My godes both sette and solde.

‘My londes both sette to wedde, Robyn,

Vntyll a certayn day,

To a ryche abbot here besyde

Of 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 woll fall of the?’

‘Hastely I wol me buske,’ sayd the knyght,

‘Ouer the saltë see,

‘And se w[h]ere Criste was quyke and dede,

On the mount of Caluerë;

Fare wel, frende, and haue gode day;

It may no better be.’

Teris fell out of hys iyen two;

He wolde haue gone hys way:

‘Farewel, frende, and haue gode day;

I ne haue no more to pay.’

‘Where be thy frendës?’ sayde Robyn:

‘Syr, neuer one wol me knowe;

While I was ryche ynowe at home

Great boste than wolde they blowe.

‘And nowe they renne away fro me,

As bestis on a rowe;

They take no more hede of me

Thanne they had me neuer sawe.’

For ruthe thanne wept Litell John_n_,

Scarlok and Muche in fere;

‘Fyl of the best wyne,’ sayde Robyn,

‘For here is a symple chere.

‘Hast thou any frende,’ sayde Robyn,

‘Thy borowe that woldë be? ’

‘I haue none,’ than sayde the knyght,

‘But God that dyed on tree.’

‘Do away thy iapis,’ than sayde Robyn,

‘Thereof wol I right none;

Wenest thou I wolde haue God to borowe,

Peter, Poule, or John_n_?

‘Nay, by hym that me made,

And shope both sonne and mone,

Fynde me a better borowe,’ sayde Robyn,

‘Or money getest thou none.’

‘I haue none other,’ sayde the knyght,

‘The sothe for to say,

But yf yt be Our derë Lady;

She fayled me neuer or thys day.’

‘By dere worthy God,’ sayde Robyn,

‘To seche all Englonde thorowe,

Yet fonde I neuer to my pay

A moche better borowe.

‘Come nowe furth, Litell John_n_,

And go to my tresourë,

And bringe me foure hundered pound,

And loke well tolde it be.’

Furth tha_n_ went Litell John_n_,

And Scarlok went before;

He tolde oute foure hundred pounde

By eight and twenty score.

‘Is thys well tolde?’ sayde [litell] Much;

John_n_ sayde, ‘What gre[ue]th the?

It is almus to helpe a gentyll knyght,

That is fal in pouertë.

‘Master,’ than sayde Lityll John,

‘His clothinge is full thynne;

Ye must gyue the knight a lyueray,

To lappe his body therin.

‘For ye haue scarlet and grene, mayster,

And man[y] a riche aray;

Ther is no marchau_n_t in mery Englond

So ryche, I dare well say.’

‘Take hym thre yerdes of euery colour,

And loke well mete that it be;’

Lytell John_n_ toke none other mesure

But his bowë-tree.

And at euery handfull that he met

He lepëd footës three;

‘What deuyllës drapar,’ sayid litell Muche,

‘Thynkest thou for to be?’

Scarlok stode full stil and loughe,

And sayd, By God Almyght,

John_n_ may gyue hym gode mesure,

For it costeth hym but lyght.

‘Mayster,’ than said Litell John_n_

To gentill Robyn Hode,

‘Ye must giue the knig[h]t a hors,

To lede home this gode.’

‘Take hy_m_ a gray coursar,’ sayde Roby_n_,

‘And a saydle newe;

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 botës,’ sayde Scarlock,

‘For he is a gentyll knight.’

‘What shalt thou gyue hy_m_, Litell John?’ said Roby_n_;

‘Sir, a peyre of gilt sporis clene,

To pray for all this co_m_pany;

God bri_n_ge hy_m_ oute of tene.’

‘Wha_n_ shal mi day be,’ said the knight,

‘Sir, and your wyll be?’

‘This day twelue moneth,’ saide Robyn,

‘Vnder this grenë-wode tre.

‘It were greate shamë,’ sayde Robyn,

‘A knight alone to ryde,

Withoutë squyre, yoman, or page,

To walkë by his syde.

‘I shall the lende Litell John, my man,

For he shalbe thy knaue;

In a yema[n]’s stede he may the stande,

If thou greate nedë haue.’

THE SECONDE FYTTE.

Now is the knight gone on his way;

This game hym thought full gode;

Wha_n_ne he loked on Bernesdale

He blessyd Roby_n_ Hode.

And wha_n_ne he thought on Bernysdale,

On Scarlok, Much, and John_n_,

He blyssyd them for the best company

#b.#

That euer he in come.

Then spake that gentyll knyght,

To Lytel Johan gan he saye,

To-morrowe I must to Yorke toune,

To Saynt Mary abbay.

And to the abbot of that place

Foure hondred pounde I must pay;

And but I be there vpon this nyght

My londe is lost for ay.

The abbot sayd to his couent,

There he stode on grounde,

This day twelfe moneth came there a knyght

And borowed foure hondred pounde.

[He borowed foure hondred pounde,]

Upon all his londë fre;

But he come this ylkë day

Dysheryte shall he be.

‘It is full erely,’ sayd the pryoure,

‘The day is not yet ferre gone;

I had leuer to pay an hondred pounde,

And lay downe anone.

‘The knyght is ferre beyonde the see,

In Englonde is his ryght,

And suffreth honger and colde,

And many a sory nyght.

‘It were grete pytë,’ said the pryoure,

‘So to haue his londe;

And ye be so lyght of your consyence,

Ye do to hym moch wronge.’

‘Thou arte euer in my berde,’ sayd the abbot,

‘By God and Saynt Rycharde;’

With that cam in a fat-heded monke,

The heygh selerer.

‘He is dede or hanged,’ sayd the monke,

‘By God that bought me dere,

And we shall haue to spende in this place

Foure hondred pounde by yere.’

The abbot and the hy selerer

Stertë forthe full bolde,

The [hye] iustyce of Englonde

The abbot there dyde holde.

The hyë iustyce and many mo

Had take in to they[r] honde

Holy all the knyghtës det,

To put that knyght to wronge.

They demed the knyght wonder sore,

The abbot and his meynë:

‘But he come this ylkë day

Dysheryte shall he be.’

‘He wyll not come yet,’ sayd the iustyce,

‘I dare well vndertake;’

But in sorowe tymë for them all

The knyght came to the gate.

Than bespake that gentyll knyght

Untyll his meynë:

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 hymselfe,

And welcomed them euerychone.

‘Welcome, syr knyght,’ sayd the porter;

‘My lorde to mete is he,

And so is many a gentyll man,

For the loue of the.’

100

The porter swore a full grete othe,

‘By God that madë me,

Here be the best coresed hors

That euer yet sawe I me.

101

‘Lede them in to the stable,’ he sayd,

‘That eased myght they be;’

‘They shall not come therin,’ sayd the knyght,

‘By God that dyed on a tre.’

102

Lordës were to mete isette

In that abbotes hall;

The knyght went forth and kneled downe,

And salued them grete and small.

103

‘Do gladly, syr abbot,’ sayd the knyght,

‘I am come to holde my day:’

The fyrst word the abbot spake,

‘Hast thou brought my pay?’

104

‘Not one peny,’ sayd the knyght,

‘By God that maked me;’

‘Thou art a shrewed dettour,’ sayd the abbot;

‘Syr iustyce, drynke to me.

105

‘What doost thou here,’ sayd the abbot,

‘But thou haddest brought thy pay?’

‘For God,’ than sayd the knyght,

‘To pray of a lenger daye.’

106

‘Thy daye is broke,’ sayd the iustyce,

‘Londe getest thou none:’

‘Now, good syr iustyce, be my frende,

And fende me of my fone!’

107

‘I am holde with the abbot,’ sayd the iustyce,

‘Both with cloth and fee:’

‘Now, good syr sheryf, be my frende!’

‘Nay, for God,’ sayd he.

108

‘Now, good syr abbot, be my frende,

For thy curteysë,

And holde my londës in thy honde

Tyll I haue made the gree!

109

‘And I wyll be thy true seruaunte,

And trewely seruë the,

Tyl ye haue foure hondred pounde

Of money good and free.’

110

The abbot sware a full grete othe,

‘By God that dyed on a tree,

Get the londe where thou may,

For thou getest none of me.’

111

‘By dere worthy God,’ then sayd the knyght,

‘That all this worldë wrought,

But I haue my londe agayne,

Full dere it shall be bought.

112

‘God, that was of a mayden borne,

Leue vs well to spede!

For it is good to assay a frende

Or that a man haue nede.’

113

The abbot lothely on hym gan loke,

And vylaynesly hym gan call;

‘Out,’ he sayd, ‘thou falsë knyght,

Spede the out of my hall!’

114

‘Thou lyest,’ then sayd the gentyll knyght,

‘Abbot, in thy hal;

False knyght was I neuer,

By God that made vs all.’

115

Vp then stode that gentyll knyght,

To the abbot sayd he,

To suffre a knyght to knele so longe,

Thou canst no curteysye.

116

In ioustës and in tournement

Full ferre than haue I be,

And put my selfe as ferre in prees

As ony that euer I se.

117

‘What wyll ye gyue more,’ sayd the iustice,

‘And the knyght shall make a releyse?

And elles dare I safly swere

Ye holde neuer your londe in pees.’

118

‘An hondred pounde,’ sayd the abbot;

The justice sayd, Gyue hym two;

‘Nay, be God,’ sayd the knyght,

#a.#

‘Yit gete ye it not so.

119

‘Though ye wolde gyue a thousand more,

Yet were ye neuer the nere;

Shall there neuer be myn heyre

Abbot, iustice, ne frere.’

120

He stert hy_m_ to a borde anone,

Tyll a table rounde,

And there he shoke oute of a bagge

Eue_n_ four hundred pou_n_d.

121

‘Haue here thi golde, sir abbot,’ saide the knight,

‘Which th_a_t thou le_n_test me;

Had thou ben curtes at my comynge,

Rewarded shuldest thou haue be.’

122

The abbot sat styll, and ete no more,

For all his ryall fare;

He cast his hede on his shulder,

And fast began to stare.

123

‘Take me my golde agayne,’ saide the abbot,

‘Sir iustice, th_a_t I toke the:’

‘Not a peni,’ said the iustice,

‘Bi Go[d, that dy]ed on tree.’

124

‘Sir [abbot, and ye me]n of lawe,

#b.#

Now haue I holde my daye;

Now shall I haue my londe agayne,

For ought that you can saye.’

125

The knyght stert out of the dore,

Awaye was all his care,

And on he put his good clothynge,

The other he lefte there.

126

He wente hym forth full mery syngynge,

As men haue tolde in tale;

His lady met hym at the gate,

At home in Verysdale.

127

‘Welcome, my lorde,’ sayd his lady;

‘Syr, lost is all your good?’

‘Be mery, dame,’ sayd the knyght,

#a.#

‘And pray for Robyn Hode,

128

‘That euer his soulë be in blysse:

He holpe me out of tene;

Ne had be his kyndënesse,

Beggers had we bene.

129

‘The abbot and I accorded ben,

He is s_er_ued of his pay;

The god yoma_n_ le_n_t it me,

As I cam by the way.’

130

This knight than dwelled fayre at home,

The sothe for to saye,

Tyll he had gete four hundred pound,

Al redy for to pay.

131

He purueyed hi_m_ an hundred bowes,

The stryngës well ydyght,

An hundred shefe of arowës gode,

The hedys burneshed full bryght;

132

And euery arowe an ellë longe,

With pecok wel idyght,

Inocked all w_i_t_h_ whyte siluer;

It was a semely syght.

133

He purueyed hym an [hondreth men],

Well harness[ed in that stede],

#b.#

And hym selfe in that same sete,

And clothed in whyte and rede.

134

He bare a launsgay in his honde,

And a man ledde his male,

And reden with a lyght songe

Vnto Bernysdale.

135

But as he we_n_t at a brydge ther was a wrastely_n_g,

And there taryed was he,

And there was all the best yemen

Of all the west countree.

136

A full fayre game there was vp set,

A whyte bulle vp i-pyght,

A grete courser, with sadle and brydil,

#a.#

With golde burnyssht full bryght.

137

A payre of gloues, a rede golde rynge,

A pype of wyne, in fay;

What man that bereth hym best i-wys

The pryce shall bere away.