God forbede, sayd lytell Much, That dyed on a tre, That thou sholdest, Lytell Johan, Parte our company. Up he toke him on his backe, And bare hym well a myle, Many a tyme he layd hym downe And shot another whyle. Then was there a fayre castèll, A lytell within the wode, Double-dyched it was about, And walled, by the rode ; And there dwelled that gentyll knyght, Syr Rychard at the Lee, That Robyn had lent his good, Under the grene wode tree. In he toke good Robyn, And all his company : “Welcome be thou, Robyn Hode, Welcome arte thou [to] me ; And moche [I] thanke the of thy comfort, And of thy curteysye, And of thy grete kyndenesse, Under the grene wode tre ; {56} I love no man in all this worlde So moch as I do the ; For all the proud sheryf of Notyngham, Ryght here shalt thou be. Shyt the gates, and drawe the bridge, And let no man com in ; And arme you well, and make you redy, And to the walle ye wynne. For one thyng, Robyn, I the behote, I swere by saynt Quyntyn, These twelve dayes thou wonest with me, To suppe, ete, and dyne.” Bordes were layed, and clothes spred, Reddely and anone ; Robyn Hode and his mery men To mete gan they gone. THE SYXTE FYTTE. Lythe and lysten, gentylmen, And herken unto your songe ; How the proude sheryfe of Notyngham, And men of armes stronge, {57} Full faste came to the hye sheryfe, The countre up to rout, And they beset the knyghts castèll, The walles all about. The proude sheryf loude gan crye, And sayd, Thou traytour knyght, Thou kepeste here the kynges enemye, Agayne the lawes and ryght. “Syr, I wyll avowe that I have done, The dedes that here[182] be dyght, Upon all the londes that I have, As I am a trewe knyght. Wende forthe, syrs, on your waye, And doth no more to me, Tyll ye wytte our kynges wyll What he woll say to the.” The sheref thus had his answere, With out ony leasynge, Forthe he yode to London toune, All for to tel our kynge. There he tolde him of that knyght, And eke of Robyn Hode, And also of the bolde archeres, That noble were and good. {58} “He wolde avowe that he had done, To mayntayne the outlawes stronge, He wolde be lorde, and set you at nought, In all the north londe.” I woll be at Notyngham, sayd the kynge, Within this fourtynyght, And take I wyll Robyn Hode, And so I wyll that knyght. Go home, thou proud sheryf, And do as I bydde the,[183] And ordayne good archeres inowe, Of all the wyde countree. 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, 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, The proude sheryfe of Notyngham, Therfore he had grete tene.