The printer's colophon is, " Explicit Kinge Edwarde and Robin hode and Lyttel Johan. Enprented at London in Fletestrete at the sygne of the sone by Wynkin de Worde." In Mr. Garrick's collection* is a different edi

tion of the same poem, "Imprinted at London upon the thre Crane wharfe by Wyllyam Copland," containing at the end a little dramatic piece on the subject of Robin Hood and the Friar, not found in the former copy, called, "A newe playe for to be played in Maye games very plesaunte and full of pastyme. C (..) D.”

I shall conclude these preliminary remarks with observing, that the hero of this ballad was the famous subject of popular songs so early as the time of K. Edw. III. In the Visions of Pierce Plowman, written in that reign, a monk says,

I can rimes of Roben Hod, and Randal of Chester.
But of our Lorde and our Lady, I lerne nothyng at all.
Fol. 26, Ed. 1550.

See also in Bp. Latimer's Sermons† a very curious and characteristical story, which shows what respect was shown to the memory of our archer in the time of that prelate.

The curious reader will find many other particulars relating to this celebrated outlaw, in Sir John Hawkins's Hist. of Music, vol. 3. p. 410, 4to.

For the catastrophe of Little John, who, it seems, was executed for a robbery on Arbor-hill, Dublin, (with some curious particulars relating to his skill in archery,) see Mr. J. C. Walker's ingenious "Memoir on the Armour and Weapons of the Irish,” p. 129, annexed to his "Historical Essay on the Dress of the ancient and modern Irish." Dublin, 1788, 4to.

* Old Plays, 4to. K. vol. 10.

+ Ser. 6th before K. Ed. Apr. 12, fol. 75. Gilpin's Life of Lat. p. 122.

Some liberties were, by the Editor, taken with this ballad; which, in this edition, hath been brought nearer to the folio MS.

WHEN shaws beene sheene, and shradds full fayre,
And leaves both large and longe,

Itt is merrye walkyng in the fayre forrèst

To heare the small birdes songe.

The woodweele sang, and wold not cease,

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Sitting upon the spraye,

Soe lowde, he wakened Robin Hood,

In the greenwood where he lay.

Now by my faye, sayd jollye Robin,

A sweaven I had this night;

I dreamt me of tow wighty yemen,

That fast with me can fight.

Methought they did mee beate and binde,

And tooke my bow mee froe;

Iff I be Robin alive in this lande,

Ile be wroken on them towe.

Sweavens are swift, master, quoth John,

As the wind blowes ore the hill;

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15

For if itt be never so loude this night,

To-morrow it may be still.

2

Ver. 1. It should perhaps be swards: i. e. the surface of the ground: viz. "when the fields are in their beauty."

Buske yee, bowne yee, my merry men all,
And John shall goe with mee,
For Ile goe seeke yond wight yeomen,
In greenwood where the bee.

Then they cast on their gownes of grene,
And tooke theyr bowes each one;
And they away to the greene forrest
A shooting forth are gone;

Untill they came to the merry greenwood,
Where they had gladdest to bee,

There, were the ware of a wight yeoman,
That body leaned to a tree.

A sword and a dagger he wore by his side,
Of manye a man the bane ;

And he was clad in his capull hyde
Topp and tayll and mayne.

Stand you still, master, quoth Little John,

Under this tree so grene,

And I will go to yond wight yeoman

To know what he doth meane.

Ah! John, by me thou settest noe store,

And that I farley finde:

How offt send I my men beffore,

And tarry my selfe behinde?

It is no cunning a knave to ken,
And a man but heare him speake;
And itt were not for bursting of my bowe,
John, I thy head wold breake.

As often wordes they breeden bale,
So they parted Robin and John;
And John is gone to Barnesdale :
The gates he knoweth eche one.

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But when he came to Barnesdale,

Great heavinesse there hee hadd,

For he found tow of his owne fellòwes
Were slaine both in a slade.

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And Scarlette he was flying a-foote

Fast over stocke and stone,

For the proud sheriffe with seven score men

Fast after him is gone.

One shoote now I will shoote, quoth John,
With Christ his might and mayne;

Ile make yond fellow that flyes soe fast,

To stopp he shall be fayne.

Then John bent up his long bende-bowe,

And fetteled him to shoote:

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65

* i. e. ways, passes, paths, ridings. Gate is a common word in the North for way.

The bow was made of tender boughe,

And fell down at his foote.

Woe worth, woe worth thee, wicked wood,

That ere thou grew on a tree;

For now this day thou art my bale,
My boote when thou shold bee.

His shoote it was but loosely shott,
Yet flewe not the arrowe in vaine,
For itt mett one of the sherriffes men,
Good William a Trent was slaine.

It had bene better of William a Trent
To have bene abed with sorrowe,

Than to be that day in the green wood slade
To meet with Little Johns arrowe.

But as it is said, when men be mett
Fyve can doe more than three,

The sheriffe hath taken little John,

And bound him fast to a tree.

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Thou shalt be drawen by dale and downe,

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And hanged hye on a hill.

But thou mayst fayle of thy purpose, quoth John,

If itt be Christ his will.

Let us leave talking of little John,

And thinke of Robin Hood,

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