There our kynge was wont to se Herdes many one, He coud unneth fynde one dere, That bare ony good horne. 20 The kynge was wonder wroth withall, And swore by the trynytè, "I wolde I had Robyn Hode, With eyen I myght hym se. "And he that wolde smyte of the knyghtes hede, 25 And brynge it to me, He shall have the knyghtes londes, Syr Rycharde at the Le. "I gyve it hym with my chartèr, And sele it with my honde, 30 To have and holde for ever-more, In all mery Englonde." Than bespake a fayre olde knyght, That was treue in his fay, "A, my lege lorde the kynge, 35 One worde I shall you say; "There is no man in this countrè May have the knyghtes londes, Whyle Robyn Hode may ryde or gone, And bere a bowe in his hondes, 40 "That he ne shall lese his hede, That is the best ball in his hode: Give it no man, my lorde the kynge, That ye wyll any good." Half a yere dwelled our comly kynge 45 In Notyngham, and well more; Coude he not here of Robyn Hode, In what countre that he were. But alway went good Robyn By halke and eke by hyll, 50 And alway slewe the kynges dere, And welt them at his wyll. Than bespake a proude fostere, That stode by our kynges kne, "If ye wyll se good Robyn, 55 Ye must do after me. "Take fyve of the best knyghtes That be in your lede, And walk downe by yon abbay,[L59] And gete you monkes wede. 60 "And I wyll be your ledes man, And lede you the way, And or ye come to Notyngham, Myn hede then dare I lay, "That ye shall mete with good Robyn, 65 On lyve yf that he be; Or ye come to Notyngham, With eyen ye shall hym se." Full hastly our kynge was dyght, So were his knyghtes fyve, 70 Everych of them in monkes wede, And hasted them thyder blyve.[L72] Our kynge was grete above his cole, A brode hat on his crowne, Ryght as he were abbot-lyke, 75 They rode up in-to the towne. Styf botes our kynge had on, Forsoth as I you say; He rode syngynge to grene wode, The covent was clothed in graye. 80 His male hors and his grete somèrs Folowed our kynge behynde, Tyll they came to grene wode, A myle under the lynde. There they met with good Robyn, 85 Stondynge on the waye, And so dyde many a bolde archere, For soth as I you say.