He took Sir Guys head by the hayre, And sticked itt on his bowes end: Thou hast beene a traytor all thy liffe, Which thing must have an ende. Robin pulled forth an Irish kniffe, And nicked Sir Guy in the face, That he was never on woman born, Cold tell whose head it was. Saies, Lye there, lye there, now Sir Guye, And with me be not wrothe, If thou have had the worst stroked at my hand, Thou shalt have the better clothe. Robin did off his gowne of greene, And on Sir Guy did it throwe, And hee put on that capull hyde, That cladd him topp to toe. The bowe, the arrowes, and litle home, Now with me I will beare; For I will away to Barnesdale, To see how my men doe fare. 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 now tydings good, For yonder I heare Sir Guyes horne blowe, And he hath slaine Robin Hoode. Yonder I heare Sir Guyes home 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 go 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 Litle 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 countrye, 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. Then John he took Guyes bow in his hand, His boltes and arrowes eche one: When the sheriffe saw Little John bend his bow, He fettled him to be gone. Towards his house in Nottingham towne He fled full fast away; And soe did all his companye: Not one behind wold stay. But he cold neither runne soe fast, Nor away soe fast cold ryde, But Litle John with an arrowe soe broad He shott him into the 'back'-syde. THE BOY & THE MANTLE [Illustration: Boy and Mantle] In Carleile dwelt King Arthur, A prince of passing might; And there maintain'd his table round, Beset with many a knight.