"I woll be at Notyngham," sayd the kynge, "Within this fourtynyght, And take I wyll Robyn Hode, 35 And so I wyll that knyght. "Go home, thou proud sheryf, And do as I bydde the,[L38] And ordayne good archeres inowe Of all the wyde countree." 40 The sheryf had his leve itake, And went hym on his way; And Robyn Hode to grene wode [went] Upon a certayn day. And Lytell Johan was hole of the arowe, 45 That shote was in his kne, And dyde hym strayte to Robyn Hode, Under the grene wode tre. Robyn Hode walked in the foreste, Under the leves grene; 50 The proud sheryfe of Notyngham, Therfore he had grete tene. The sheryf there fayled of Robyn Hode, He myght not have his pray; Then he awayted that gentyll knyght, 55 Bothe by nyght and by daye. Ever he awayted that gentyll knyght, Syr Rychard at the Lee; As he went on haukynge by the ryver syde And let his haukes flee, 60 Toke he there this gentyll knyght, With men of armes stronge, And lad hym home to Notyngham warde, Ibonde both fote and honde.[L64] The sheryf swore a full grete othe, 65 By hym that dyed on rode,[L66] He had lever than an hondrede pounde, That he had Robyn Hode. Then the lady, the knyghtes wyfe, A fayre lady and fre, 70 She set her on a gode palfrày, To grene wode anon rode she. When she came to the forèst, Under the grene wode tre, Founde she there Robyn Hode, 75 And all his fayre meynè. "God the save, good Robyn Hode,[L77] And all thy company; For our dere ladyes love,[L79] A bone graunte thou me. 80 "Let thou never my wedded lorde[L81] Shamfully slayne to be;[L82] He is fast ibounde to Notyngham warde, For the love of the." Anone then sayd good Robyn, 85 To that lady fre, "What man hath your lorde itake?" "The proude shirife," than sayd she.[L88] ["The proude sheryfe hath hym itake] Forsoth as I the say; 90 He is not yet thre myles Passed on his waye."[L92] Up then sterte good Robyn, As a man that had be wode; "Buske you, my mery young men, 95 For hym that dyed on a rode. "And he that this sorowe forsaketh, By hym that dyed on a tre, And by him that al thinges maketh,[L99] No lenger shall dwell with me."[L100] 100 Sone there were good bowes ibent, Mo than seven score, Hedge ne dyche spared they none, That was them before.