285. A ryght good arowe he shall have, The shaft of sylver whyte, The hede and feders of ryche rede golde, In Englond is none lyke. 286. This than herde good Robyn Under his trystell-tre: ‘Make you redy, ye wyght yonge men; That shotynge wyll I se. 287. ‘Buske you, my mery yonge men; Ye shall go with me; And I wyll wete the shryvës fayth, Trewe and yf he be.’ 288. Whan they had theyr bowes i-bent, Theyr takles fedred fre, Seven score of wyght yonge men Stode by Robyn’s kne. 289. Whan they cam to Notyngham, The buttes were fayre and longe; Many was the bolde archere That shoted with bowës stronge. 290. ‘There shall but syx shote with me; The other shal kepe my hevede, And standë with good bowës bent, That I be not desceyved.’ 291. The fourth outlawe his bowe gan bende, And that was Robyn Hode, And that behelde the proud sheryfe, All by the but as he stode. 292. Thryës Robyn shot about, And alway he slist the wand, And so dyde good Gylberte With the whytë hande. 293. Lytell Johan and good Scatheloke Were archers good and fre; Lytell Much and good Reynolde, The worste wolde they not be. 294. Whan they had shot aboute, These archours fayre and good, Evermore was the best, For soth, Robyn Hode. 295. Hym was delyvred the good arowe, For best worthy was he; He toke the yeft so curteysly; To grenë-wode wolde he. 296. They cryed out on Robyn Hode, And grete hornës gan they blowe: ‘Wo worth the, treason!’ sayd Robyn, ‘Full evyl thou art to knowe. 297. ‘And wo be thou, thou proudë sheryf, Thus gladdynge thy gest! Other wyse thou behotë me In yonder wylde forest. 298. ‘But had I thee in grenë-wode, Under my trystell-tre, Thou sholdest leve me a better wedde Than thy trewe lewtë.’ 299. Full many a bowë there was bent, And arowës let they glyde; Many a kyrtell there was rent, And hurt many a syde. 300. The outlawes shot was so stronge That no man might them dryve, And the proud sheryfës men, They fled away full blyve. 301. Robyn sawe the busshement to-broke, In grene wode he wolde have be; Many an arowe there was shot Amonge that company. 302. Lytell Johan was hurte full sore, With an arowe in his kne, That he myght neyther go nor ryde; It was full grete pytë. 303. ‘Mayster,’ then sayd Lytell Johan, ‘If ever thou lovedst me, And for that ylkë lordës love That dyed upon a tre, 304. ‘And for the medes of my servyce, That I have servëd thee, Lete never the proudë sheryf Alyve now fyndë me. 305. ‘But take out thy brownë swerde, And smyte all of my hede, And gyve me woundës depe and wyde; No lyfe on me be lefte.’