"First let us some masterye make Among the woods so even; 110 We may chance to meet with Robin Hood Here att some unsett steven." They cutt them downe two summer shroggs, That grew both under a breere, And sett them threescore rood in twaine, 115 To shoote the prickes y-fere. "Leade on, good fellowe," quoth Robin Hood, "Leade on, I do bidd thee;" "Nay, by my faith, good fellowe," hee sayd, "My leader thou shalt bee." 120 The first time Robin shot at the pricke, He mist but an inch it fro; The yeoman was an archer good, But he cold never shoote soe. The second shoote had the wighte yemàn,[L125] 125 He shote within the garlànde; But Robin he shott far better than hee, For he clave the good pricke-wande. "A blessing upon thy heart," he sayd, "Good fellowe, thy shooting is goode; 130 For an thy hart be as good as thy hand, Thou wert better then Robin Hoode. "Now tell me thy name, good fellowe," sayd he, "Under the leaves of lyne;" "Nay, by my faith," quoth bolde Robin, 135 "Till thou have told me thine." "I dwell by dale and downe," quoth hee, "And Robin to take Ime sworne; And when I am called by my right name, I am Guye of good Gisbòrne." 140 "My dwelling is in this wood," sayes Robin, "By thee I set right nought: I am Robin Hood of Barnésdale, Whom thou so long hast sought." He that had nether beene kithe nor kin 145 Might have seene a full fayre fight, To see how together these yeomen went With blades both browne and bright: To see how these yeomen together they fought Two howres of a summers day, 150 Yett neither Robin Hood nor sir Guy Them fettled to flye away. Robin was reachles on a roote, And stumbled at that tyde; And Guy was quicke and nimble withall, 155 And hitt him ore the left side. "Ah, deere Ladye," sayd Robin Hood tho, "Thou art both mother and may; I think it was never mans destinye To dye before his day." 160 Robin thought on our ladye deere, And soone leapt up againe, And strait he came with an awkwarde stroke, And he sir Guy hath slayne. He took sir Guys head by the hayre, 165 And sticked itt on his bowes end: "Thou hast beene a traytor all thy liffe, Which thing must have an end." Robin pulled forth an Irish kniffe, And nicked sir Guy in the face, 170 That he was never on woman born Cold tell whose head it was.