His shoote it was but loosely shott, Yet flewe not the arrowe in vaine, For itt mett one of the sheriffes 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. Thou shalt be drawen by dale and downe, 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, 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 fellow, quoth he: Methinkes 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. He lead thee through the wood, sayd Robin; Good fellow, He be thy guide. I seeke an outlàwe, the straunger sayd, Men call him Robin Hood; Rather Ild meet with that proud outlawe, Than fortye pound so 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. They cut them downe two summer shroggs, That grew both under a breere, And sett them threescore rood in twaine To shoot the prickes y-fere: Lead on, good fellowe, quoth Robin Hood, Lead 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: The yeoman he was an archer good, 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 hath neither beene kithe nor kin, Might have scene a full fayre sight, To see how together these yeomen went With blades both browne and bright.