'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.

Thou shalt be drawen by dale and downe, And hanged hye on a hill.

That grew both under a breere, And sett them threescore rood in twaine To shoot the prickes y-fere.

Leade on, good fellowe, quoth Robin Hood, Leade on, I doe bidd thee.

Nay by my faith, good fellowe, hee sayd,
My leader thou shalt bee.

The first time Robin shot at the pricke,
He mist but an inch it froe:

If itt be Christ his will.

Let us leave talking of Little John,
And thinke of Robin Hood,
How he is gone to the wight yeoman,
Where under the leaves he stood.

Good morrowe, good fellowe, sayd Robin so fayre,

"Good morrowe, good fellowe," quoth he:

Methinks by this bowe thou beares in thy hande

A good archere thou sholdst bee.

I am wilfull of my waye, quo' the yeman, And of my morning tyde.

Ile lead thee through the wood, sayd Robin;

Good fellow, Ile be thy guide.

I seeke an outlawe, the straunger sayd,
Men call him Robin Hood;
Rather Ild meet with that proud outlawe
Than fortye pound soe good.

Now come with me, thou wighty yeman,
And Robin thou soone shalt see:
But first let us some pastime find
Under the greenwood tree.

First let us some masterye make

Among the woods so even,

Wee may chance to meet with Robin Hood Here att some unsett steven.

But he cold never shoote soe.

The second shoote had the wightye yeman,
He shote within the garlànde:
But Robin he shott far better than hee,

For he clave the good pricke wande.

A blessing upon thy heart, he sayd;

Good fellowe, thy shooting is goode; For an thy hart be as good as thy hand, Thou wert better then Robin Hoode.

Now tell me thy name, good fellowe, sayd he,

Under the leaves of lyne.
Nay by my faith, quoth bolde Robin,
Till thou have told me thine.

I dwell by dale and downe, quoth hee,
And Robin to take Ime sworne;
And when I am called by my right name
I am Guye of good Gisborne.

My dwelling is in this wood, sayes Robin,
By thee I set right nought:

I am Robin Hood of Barnèsdale,
Whom thou so long hast sought.

He that had neither beene kithe nor kin,
Might have seene a full fayre sight,
To see how together these yeomen went
With blades both browne * and bright.

Robin Hood sett Guyes horne to his mouth,
And a loud blast in it did blow.
That beheard the sheriffe of Nottingham,
As he leaned under a lowe.

Hearken, hearken, sayd the sheriffe,
I heare nowe tydings good,

For yonder I heare sir Guyes horne blowe,
And he hath slaine Robin Hoode.

Yonder I heare sir Guyes horne blowe,
Itt blowes soe well in tyde,

And yonder comes that wightye yeoman,
Cladd in his capull hyde.

Come hyther, come hyther, thou good sir Guy,

Aske what thou wilt of mee.

o I will none of thy gold, sayd Robin, Nor I will none of thy fee:

But now I have slaine the master, he sayes,
Let me goe strike the knave;

This is all the rewarde I aske;
Nor noe other will I have.

Thou art a madman, said the sheriffe,

Thou sholdest have had a knights fee: But seeing thy asking hath beene soe bad, Well granted it shale be.

When Litle John heard his master speake,
Well knewe he it was his steven:
Now shall I be looset, quoth Litle John,
With Christ his might in heaven.

Fast Robin hee hyed him to Little John,
He thought to loose him belive ;
The sheriffe and all his companye
Fast after him did drive.

Stand abacke, stand abacke, sayd Robin;
Why draw you mee soe neere?
Itt was never the use in our countryè,
Ones shrift another shold heere.

But Robin pulled forth an Irysh kniffe,
And losed John hand and foote,
And gave him sir Guyes bow into his hand,
And bade it be his boote.

lorde?

To whome grete astates obeyde and lowttede;

A mayny of rude villayns made him for to blede:

Unkindly they slew hym, that holp them

oft at nede:

He was their bulwark, their paves, and their wall,

Yet shamfully they slew hym; that shame mot them befal,

I say, ye commoners, why wer ye so stark mad?

What frantyk frensy fyll in youre brayne? Wher was your wit and reson, ye shuld have had?

What willfull foly made yow to ryse

agayne

Your naturall lord? alas! I can not fayne.

Ye armed you with will, and left your wit behynd;

Well may you be called comones most unkynd.

He was your chyfteyne, your shelde, your chef defence,

Redy to assyst you in every tyme of nede :

Your worship depended of his excellence : Alas! ye mad men, to far ye did excede : Your hap was unhappy, to ill was your spede :

What movyd you agayn hym to war or to fight?

What aylde you to sle your lord agyn all right?

The grounde of his quarel was for his sovereyn lord,

The welle concernyng of all the hole lande,

Demaundyng soche dutyes as nedis most

acord

To the right of his prince which shold not be withstand;

For whos cause ye slew hym with your awne hande:

But had his nobill mendone wel that day, Ye had not been hable to have saide him nay.

But ther was fals packinge, or els I am begylde:

How-be-it the matter was evident and playne,

For yf they had occupied ther spere and ther shelde,

This noble man doutles had not be

slayne.

Bot men say they wer lynked with a double chayn,

And held with the commouns under a cloke, Whiche kindeled the wyld fyre that made

all the smoke.

The commouns renyed ther taxes to pay Of them demaunded and asked by the kinge;

With one voice importune, they playnly said nay:

They buskt them on a bushment them

self in baile to bringe:

Agayne the kings plesure to wrastle or to wringe,

Bluntly as bestis withe boste and with cry They saide, they forsede not, nor carede

not to dy.

The noblenes of the northe this valiant lorde and knyght,

As man that was innocent of trechery

or trayne,

Presed forthe boldly to witstand the myght,

And, lyke marciall Hector, he fauht them agayne,

Vigorously upon them with myght and with mayne,

Trustinge in noble men that wer with hym there :

Bot all they fled from hym for falshode or fere.

Barons, knights, squyers, one and alle,

Togeder with servaunts of his famuly,