"Make good chere," said Robyn, "Abbot, for charytè; And for this ylke tydynge, Blyssed mote thou be. "Now shalte thou se what life we lede, 165 Or thou hens wende; Than thou may enfourme our kynge, Whan ye togyder lende." Up they sterte all in hast, Theyr bowes were smartly bent; 170 Our kynge was never so sore agast, He wende to have be shente. Two yerdes there were up set, There to gan they gange; By fifty pase, our kynge sayd, 175 The merkes were to longe. On every syde a rose garlonde, They shot under the lyne: "Who so fayleth of the rose garlonde," sayd Robyn, "His takyll he shall tyne, 180 "And yelde it to his mayster, Be it never so fyne; For no man wyll I spare, So drynke I ale or wyne;-- "And bere a buffet on his hede, 185 I-wys right all bare:"[L186] And all that fell in Robyns lote, He smote them wonder sare. Twyse Robyn shot aboute, And ever he cleved the wande, 190 And so dyde good Gylberte With the Whyte Hand.[L192] Lytell Johan and good Scathelocke, For nothynge wolde they spare, When they fayled of the garlonde, 195 Robyn smote them full sare. At the last shot that Robyn shot, For all his frendes fare, Yet he fayled of the garlonde, Thre fyngers and mare. 200 Than bespake good Gylberte, And thus he gan say; "Mayster," he sayd, "your takyll is lost, Stand forth and take your pay." "If it be so," sayd Robyn, 205 "That may no better be; Syr abbot, I delyver the myn arowe, I pray the, syr, serve thou me." "It falleth not for myn order," sayd our kynge, "Robyn, by thy leve, 210 For to smyte no good yemàn, For doute I sholde hym greve." "Smyte on boldely," sayd Robyn, "I give the large leve:" Anone our kynge, with that worde, 215 He folde up his sleve, And sych a buffet he gave Robyn, To grounde he yede full nere. "I make myn avowe to god," sayd Robyn, "Thou arte a stalworthe frere. 220 "There is pith in thyn arme," sayd Robyn, "I trowe thou canst well shote;" Thus our kynge and Robyn Hode Togeder than they met. Robyn behelde our comly kynge 225 Wystly in the face, So dyde syr Richarde at the Le, And kneled downe in that place; And so dyde all the wylde outlawes, Whan they se them knele: 230 "My lorde the kynge of Englonde, Now I knowe you well.