But as they loked in Barnysdale, By a derne strete, Then came there a knyght rydynge, Full sone they gan hym mete. All dreri then was his semblaunte,[L85] 85 And lytell was hys pryde, Hys one fote in the sterope stode, That other waved besyde. Hys hode hangynge over hys eyen two, He rode in symple aray; 90 A soryer man than he was one Rode never in somers-day. Lytell Johan was curteyse, And set hym on his kne: "Welcome be ye, gentyll knyght, 95 Welcome are you to me. "Welcome be thou to grene wood, Hende knyght and fre; My mayster hath abyden you fastynge, Syr, all these oures thre." 100 "Who is your mayster?" sayd the knyght. Johan sayde, "Robyn Hode." "He is a good yeman," sayd the knyght, "Of hym I have herde moch good. "I graunte," he sayd, "with you to wende, 105 My brethren, all in-fere;[L106] My purpose was to have deyned to day At Blythe or Dankastere." Forthe than went this gentyll knyght,[L109] With a carefull chere; 110 The teres out of his eyen ran, And fell downe by his lere.[L112] They brought hym unto the lodge dore; When Robyn gan hym se, Full curteysly dyde of his hode, 115 And set hym on his kne. "Welcome, syr knyght," then said Robyn, "Welcome thou arte to me, I haue abyde you fastynge, syr, All these houres thre." 120 Then answered the gentyll knyght, With wordes fayre and fre, "God the save, good Robyn, And all thy fayre meynè." They washed togyder and wyped bothe, 125 And set tyll theyr dynere; Brede and wyne they had ynough, And nombles of the dere. Swannes and fesauntes they had full good, And foules of the revere; 130 There fayled never so lytell a byrde, That ever was bred on brere. "Do gladly, syr knyght," sayd Robyn; "Gramercy, syr," sayd he, "Such a dyner had I not 135 Of all these wekes thre. "If I come agayne, Robyn, Here by this countrè, As good a dyner I shall the make, As thou hast made to me." 140 "Gramercy, knyght," sayd Robyn; "My dyner whan I have, I was never so gredy, by dere worthy god, My dyner for to crave. "But pay or ye wende," sayd Robyn, 145 "Me thynketh it is good ryght; It was never the maner, by dere worthy god, A yeman to pay for a knyght."[L148] "I have nought in my cofers," sayd the knyght, "That I may profer for shame;" 150 "Lytell Johan, go loke," sayd Robyn,[L151] "Ne let not for no blame.