The knyght stert out of the dore, Awaye was all his care, And on he put his good clothynge, 175 The other he lefte there. He wente hym forthe full mery syngynge, As men have tolde in tale, His lady met hym at the gate, At home in Uterysdale.[L180] 180 "Welcome, my lorde," sayd his lady; "Syr, lost is all your good?" "Be mery, dame," sayd the knyght, "And praye for Robyn Hode, "That ever his soule be in blysse; 185 He holpe me out of my tene; Ne had not be his kyndenesse, Beggers had we ben. "The abbot and I acordyd ben, He is served of his pay, 190 The good yeman lent it me, As I came by the way." This knyght than dwelled fayre at home, The soth for to say, Tyll he had got foure hondreth pounde, 195 All redy for too paye. He purveyed hym an hondred bowes, The strenges welle [y-]dyght, An hondred shefe of arowes good, The hedes burnyshed full bryght. 200 And every arowe an elle longe, With pecocke well ydyght, Inocked all with whyte sylvèr, It was a semly syght. He purveyed hym an hondreth men, 205 Well harneysed in that stede, And hymselfe in that same sete,[L207] And clothed in whyte and rede. He bare a launsgay in his honde, And a man ledde his male, 210 And reden with a lyght songe Unto Bernysdale. As he went at brydge ther was a wrastelyng, And there taryed was he, And there was all the best yemèn, 215 Of all the west countree. A full fayre game there was upset; A whyte bull up ipyght,[L218] A grete courser with sadle and brydil, With golde burneyshed full bryght; 220 A payre of gloves, a rede golde rynge, A pype of wyne, in good fay; What man bereth him best, i-wys, The pryce shall bere away. There was a yeman in that place, 225 And best worthy was he, And for he was ferre and frend bestad, Islayne he sholde have be. The knyght had reuth of this yemàn, In place where that he stode, 230 He said that yoman sholde have no harme, For love of Robyn Hode. The knyght presed into the place, An hondred folowed hym fre,[L234] With bowes bent, and arowes sharpe, 235 For to shende that company. They sholdred all, and made hym rome, To wete what he wolde say; He toke the yeman by the honde, And gave hym all the playe. 240 He gave hym fyve marke for his wyne, There it laye on the molde, And bad it sholde be sette a broche, Drynke who so wolde.