"Hast thou thy land again?" said Robin, "Truth then tell thou me." "Yea, fore God," said the knight, "And that thank I God and thee. But take not a grief," said the knight, "That I have been so long; I came by a wresteling, And there I did help a poor yeom-an, With wrong was put behind." "Nay, fore God," said Rob-in, "Sir knight, that thank I thee; What man that helpeth a good yeom-an, His friend then will I be." "Have here four hundred pound," then said the knight, "The which ye lent to me; And here is also twenty mark For your courtes-y." "Nay, fore God," then said Robin, "Thou brook it well for aye, For our Lady, by her cellarer, Hath sent to me my pay; And if I took it twice, A shame it were to me: But truly, gentle knight, Welc-ome art thou to me." When Rob-in had told his tale, He laughed and had good cheer. "By my troth," then said the knight, "Your money is ready here." "Brook it well," said Rob-in, "Thou gentle knight so free; And welcome be thou, gentle knight, Under my trystell tree. But what shall these bows do?" said Robin, "And these arrows i-feathered free?" "It is," then said the knight, "A poor pres-ent to thee." "Come now forth, Little John, And go to my treasur-y, And bring me there four hundred pound, The monk over-told it to me. Have here four hundred pound, Thou gentle knight and true, And buy horse and harness good, And gild thy spurs all new: And if thou fail an-y spend-ing, Come to Robin Hood, And by my troth thou shalt none fail The whiles I have any good. And brook well thy four hundred pound, Which I lent to thee, And make thyself no more so bare, By the counsel of me." Thus then holp him good Rob-in, The knight of all his care. God, that sitteth in heaven high, Grant us well to fare. THE FIFTH FYTTE. Now hath the knight his leave i-take, And went him on his way; Robin Hood and his merry men Dwelled still full many a day. Lithe and listen, gentle men, And hearken what I shall say, How the proud sheriff of Nottingham Did cry a full fair play; That all the best archers of the north Should come upon a day, And they that shoot all of the best The game shall bear away. 'He that shooteth all of the best Furthest fair and law, At a pair of fynly butts, Under the green wood shaw, A right good arrow he shall have, The shaft of silver white, The head and the feathers of rich red gold, In England is none like.'