A similar story (“Comment un moine se débarasse des voleurs”) may be found in “Le Moyen de Parvenir,” i. 304 (edit. 1739). {98} Lyth and listen, gentlemen, That be of high born blood, I’ll tell you of a brave bootìng That befell Robin Hood. Robin Hood upon a day, He went forth him alone, And as he came from Barnsdale Into fair evenìng, He met a beggar on the way, Who sturdily could gang ; He had a pike-staff in his hand That was both stark and strang ; A clouted clock about him was, That held him frae the cold, The thinnest bit of it, I guess, Was more than twenty fold. His meal-poke hang about his neck, Into a leathern whang, Well fasten’d to a broad bucle, That was both stark and ‘strang.’ He had three hats upon his head, Together sticked fast, He car’d neither for wind nor wet, In lands where’er[258] he past. {99} Good Robin cast him in the way, To see what he might be, If any beggar had monèy, He thought some part had he. Tarry, tarry, good Robin says, Tarry, and speak with me. He heard him as he heard him not, And fast on his way can hy. ’Tis be not so, says [good] Robìn, Nay, thou must tarry still. By my troth, said the bold beggàr, Of that I have no will. It is far to my lodging house, And it is growing late, If they have supt e’er I come in I will look wondrous blate. Now, by my truth, says good Robìn, I see well by thy fare, If thou shares well to thy suppèr, Of mine thou dost not care, Who wants my dinner all this day And wots not where to ly, And would I to the tavern go, I want money to buy. {100} Sir, you must lend me some monèy Till we meet again. The beggar answer’d cankardly, I have no money to lend : Thou art a young man as I, And seems to be as sweer ; If thou fast till thou get from me, Thou shalt eat none this year. Now, by my truth, says [good] Robìn, Since we are assembled so, If thou hast but a small farthìng, I’ll have it e’er thou go. Come, lay down thy clouted cloak, And do no longer stand, And loose the strings of all thy pokes, I’ll ripe them with my hand. And now to thee I make a vow, If ‘thou’ make any din, I shall see a broad arròw, Can pierce a beggar’s skin. The beggar smil’d, and answer made, Far better let me be ; Think not that I will be afraid, For thy nip crooked tree ; {101} Or that I fear thee any whit, For thy curn nips of sticks, I know no use for them so meet As to be puding-pricks. Here I defy thee to do me ill, For all thy boisterous fair, Thou’s get nothing from me but ill, Would’st thou seek evermair. Good Robin bent his noble bow, He was an angery man, And in it set a broad arròw ; Lo ! e’er ’twas drawn a span, The beggar, with his noble tree, Reach’d him so round a rout, That his bow and his broad arròw In flinders flew about.