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, Stondynge on the waye, And so dyde many a bolde archere, For soth as I you say. {67} Robyn toke the kynges hors, Hastely in that stede, And sayd, Syr abbot, by your leve, A whyle ye must abyde ; We be yemen of this foreste, Under the grene wode tre, We lyve by our kynges dere, Other shyft have not we ;[198] And ye have chyrches and rentes both, And gold full grete plentè ; Gyve us some of your spendynge, For saynt Charytè.[199] Than bespake our cumly kynge, Anone than sayd he, I brought no more to grene wode, But forty pounde with me ; {68} I have layne at Notyngham, This fourtynyght with our kynge, And spent I have full moche good, On many a grete lordynge ; And I have but forty pounde, No more than have I me, But yf I had an hondred pounde, I would geve it to the.[200] Robyn toke the forty pounde, And departed it in two partye, Halfendell he gave his mery men, And bad them mery to be. Full curteysly Robyn gan say, Syr, have this for your spendyng, We shall mete a nother day. Gramercy, than sayd our kynge ; But well the greteth Edwarde our kynge, And sent to the his seale, And byddeth the com to Notyngham, Both to mete and mele. He toke out the brode tarpe,[201] And sone he lete hym se ; Robyn coud his courteysy, And set hym on his kne : {69} “I love no man in all the worlde So well as I do my kynge, Welcome is my lordes seale ; And, monke, for thy tydynge, Syr abbot, for thy tydynges, To day thou shalt dyne with me, For the love of my kynge, Under my trystell tre.” Forth he lad our comly kynge, Full fayre by the honde, Many a dere there was slayne, And full fast dyghtande. Robyn toke a full grete horne, And loude he can blowe, Seven score of wyght yonge men, Came redy on a rowe, All they kneeled on theyr kne, Full fayre before Robyn. The kygne sayd hymselfe untyll, And swore by saynt Austyn, Here is a wonder semely syght, Me thynketh, by goddes pyne ; His men are more at his byddynge, Then my men be at myn. {70} Full hastly was theyr dyner idyght, And therto gan they gone, They served our kynge with al theyr myght, Both Robyn and Lytell Johan. Anone before our kynge was set The fatte venyson, The good whyte brede, the good red wyne, And therto the fyne ale browne.[202] Make good chere, sayd Robyn, Abbot, for charytè ; And for this ylke tydynge, Blyssed mote thou be. Now shalte thou se what lyfe we lede, 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, Our kynge was never so sore agast, He wende to have be shente.