The dyde[155] them to the tresure hous, As fast as they myght gone, The lockes that were of good stele They brake them everychone ; They toke away the sylver vessell, And all that they myght get, Peces, masars, and spones, Wolde they non forgete ; Also they toke the good pence, Thre hondred pounde and three ; And dyde them strayt to Robyn Hode, Under the grene wode tre. {33} “God the save, my dere maystèr, And Cryst the save and se.” And than sayd Robyn to Lytell Johan, Welcome myght thou be ; And also be that fayre yemàn Thou bryngest there with the. What tydynges fro Notyngham ? Lytell Johan, tell thou me. “Well the greteth the proude sheryfe, And sende the here by me His coke and his sylver vessell, And thre hondred pounde and thre.” I make myn avow to god, sayd Robyn, And to the trenytè, It was never by his good wyll, This good is come to me. Lytell Johan hym there bethought, On a shrewed wyle,[156] Fyve myle in the forest he ran, Hym happed at his wyll ; Than he met the proud sheryf, Huntynge with hounde and horne, Lytell Johan coud his curteysye, And kneled hym beforne : {34} “God the save, my dere maystèr, And Cryst the save and see.” Raynolde Grenelefe, sayd the sheryfe, Where hast thou nowe be ? “I have be in this forest, A fayre syght can I se, It was one of the fayrest syghtes[157] That ever yet sawe I me ; Yonder I se a ryght fayre hart, His coloure is of grene, Seven score of dere upon an herde Be with hym all bedene ; His tynde are so sharp, maystèr, Of sexty and well mo, That I durst not shote for drede Lest they wolde me sloo.” I make myn avowe to god, sayd the sheryf, That syght wolde I fayn se. “Buske you thyderwarde, my dere maystèr, Anone, and wende with me.” The sheryfe rode, and Lytell Johan Of fote he was full smarte, And whan they came afore Robyn : “Lo, here is the mayster harte !” {35} Styll stode the proude sheryf, A sory man was he : “Wo worthe the,[158] Raynolde Grenelefe ! Thou hast now betrayed me.” I make myn avowe to god, sayd Lytell Johan, Mayster, ye be to blame, I was mysserved of my dynere, When I was with you at hame. Soone he was to super sette, And served with sylver whyte ; And whan the sheryf se his vessell, For sorowe he myght not ete. Make good chere, sayd Robyn Hode, Sheryfe, for charytè, And for the love of Lytell Johan, Thy lyfe is graunted to the. When they had supped well, The day was all agone, Robyn commaunded Lytell Johan To drawe of his hosen and his shone, His kyrtell and his cote a pye, That was furred well fyne, And take him a grene mantèll, To lappe his body therin. {36} Robyn commaunded his wyght yong men, Under the grene wood tre, They shall lay in that same sorte ; That the sheryf myght them se.