Thus shet thei forthe, these zemen too, Bothe at buske and brome, Til Litulle Johne wan of his maister V s. to hose and shone. 50 A ferly strife fel them betwene, As they went bi the way; Litull Johne seid he had won v shyllyngs, And Robyn Hode seid schortly nay. With that Robyn Hode lyed Litul Jone, 55 And smote hym with his honde; Litul John waxed wroth therwith, And pulled out his bright bronde. "Were thou not my maister," seid Litulle Johne, "Thou shuldis by hit ful sore; 60 Get the a man where thou wilt, Robyn, For thou getes me no more." Then Robyn goes to Notyngham, Hymselfe mornynge allone, And Litulle Johne to mery Scherewode, 65 The pathes he knowe alkone. Whan Robyn came to Notyngham, Sertenly withoutene layne, He prayed to God and myld Mary To brynge hym out saue agayne. 70 He gos into seynt Mary chirche, And knelyd downe before the rode; Alle that euer were the churche within Beheld wel Robyne Hode. Beside hym stode a gret-hedid munke, 75 I pray to God woo he be; Ful sone he knew gode Robyn As sone as he hym se. Out at the durre he ran Ful sone and anon; 80 Alle the zatis of Notyngham He made to be sparred euerychone. "Rise vp," he seid, "thou prowde schereff, Buske the and make the bowne; I haue spyed the kynges felone, 85 For sothe he is in this towne. "I haue spyed the false felone, As he stondes at his masse; Hit is longe of the," seide the munke, "And euer he fro vs passe. 90 "This traytur[s] name is Robyn Hode; Vnder the grene wode lynde, He robbyt me onys of a C pound,[L93] Hit shalle neuer out of my mynde." Vp then rose this prowd schereff, 95 And zade towarde hym zare; Many was the modur son To the kyrk with him can fare. In at the durres thei throly thrast With staves ful gode ilkone,[L100] 100 "Alas, alas," seid Robin Hode, "Now mysse I Litulle Johne." But Robyne toke out a too-hond sworde That hangit down be his kne; Ther as the schereff and his men stode thyckust, 105 Thidurward wold he. Thryes thorow at them he ran, Then for sothe as I yow say, And woundyt many a modur sone, And xii he slew that day. 110 Hys sworde vpon the schireff hed Sertanly he brake in too; "The smyth that the made," seid Robyn, "I pray God wyrke hym woo.