Ballads, English -- England -- Texts; Ballads, Scots -- Scotland -- Texts
The sheryf dwelled in Notynghame,
He was fayne that he was gone,
And Robyn and his mery men
Went to wode anone.
"Go we to dyner," sayd Lytell Johan; 5
Robyn Hode sayd, "Nay;
For I drede our lady be wroth with me,
For she sent me not my pay."
"Have no dout, mayster," sayd Lytell Johan,
"Yet is not the sonne at rest; 10
For I dare saye, and saufly swere,
The knyght is trewe and trust."
"Take thy bowe in thy hande," sayd Robyn,
"Let Moche wende with the,
And so shall Wyllyam Scathelock, 15
And no man abyde with me.
"And walk up into the Sayles,
And to Watlynge-strete,
And wayte after some unketh gest;[L19]
Up-chaunce ye may them mete. 20
"Whether he be messengere,
Or a man that myrthes can,
Or yf he be a pore man,
Of my good he shall have some."
Forth then stert Lytel Johan, 25
Half in tray and tene,
And gyrde hym with a full good swerde,
Under a mantel of grene.
They went up to the Sayles,
These yemen all thre; 30
They loked est, they loked west,
They myght no man se.
But as he loked in Bernysdale,
By the hye waye,
Than were they ware of two blacke monkes, 35
Eche on a good palferay.
Then bespake Lytell Johan,
To Much he gan say,
"I dare lay my lyfe to wedde,
That these monkes have brought our pay. 40
"Make glad chere," sayd Lytell Johan,
"And frese our bowes of ewe,
And loke your hertes be seker and sad,
Your strynges trusty and trewe.
"The monke hath fifty two men, 45
And seven somers full stronge;
There rydeth no bysshop in this londe
So ryally, I understond.
"Brethern," sayd Lytell Johan,
"Here are no more but we thre; 50
But we brynge them to dyner,
Our mayster dare we not se.
"Bende your bowes," sayd Lytell Johan,
"Make all yon prese to stonde;[L54]
The formost monke, his lyfe and his deth 55
Is closed in my honde.
"Abyde, chorle monke," sayd Lytell Johan,
"No ferther that thou gone;
Yf thou doost, by dere worthy god,
Thy deth is in my honde. 60
"And evyll thryfte on thy hede," sayd Lytell Johan,
"Ryght under thy hattes bonde,
For thou hast made our mayster wroth,
He is fastynge so longe."
"Who is your mayster?" sayd the monke; 65
Lytell Johan sayd "Robyn Hode;"
"He is a stronge thefe," sayd the monke,
"Of hym herd I never good."
"Thou lyest," than sayd Lytell Johan,
"And that shall rewe the; 70
He is a yeman of the forèst,
To dyne he hath bode the."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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