O take them, O take them, says great master sheriff, O take them along with thee ; For there’s never a man in fair Nottinghàm Can do the like of thee. {369} VII. ROBIN HOOD’S DELIGHT. Dr. Pepusch, among other very curious articles of ancient English music, was possessed of a MS. folio (supposed to be still extant), which at p. 15 contained a tune intitled “Robin Hood.” See Ward’s “Lives of the Professors of Gresham College,” 1740 (an interleaved copy, corrected and augmented by the author, in the British Museum). “Robene Hude” is likewise the name of a dance in Wedderburn’s “Complainte of Scotland,” printed in 1549. The following tune is preserved by Oswald in his “Caledonian Pocket Companion.” [Music] {370} VIII. ROBIN HOOD AND THE MONK. This singularly curious and excellent poem, which is probably the earliest extant on the subject, was first printed in the “Ancient Metrical Tales,” edited by the Rev. C. H. Hartshorne (8vo, 1829), from a MS. in the library of University College, Cambridge (F. F. 5. 48), with which it has been since obligingly collated by Frederic Madden, Esq. A few lines are unfortunately rendered illegible by damp. In somer when the shawes be sheyne, And leves be large and longe, Hit is fulle mery in feyre foreste To here the foulys song. To se the dere draw to the dale, And leve the hilles hee, And shadow hem in the leves grene Vndur the grene wode tre. Hit befel on whitsontide, Erly in a may mornyng, The son vp fayre can shyne, And the briddis mery can syng. This is a mery mornyng, seid litulle Johne, Be hym that dyed on tre, A more mery man than I am one Lyves not in cristianté. {371} Pluk vp thi hert my dere mayster, Litulle Johne can sey, And thynk hit is a fulle fayre tyme In a mornynge of may. Ze on thynge greves me seid Robyne, And does my hert myche woo, That I may not so solem day To mas nor matyns goo. Hit is a fourtnet and more, seyd hee, Syn I my sauyour see ; To day wil I to Notyngham, seid Robyn, With the myght of mylde Mary. Then spake Moche the mylner[s] sune, Euer more wel hym betyde, Take xii of thi wyght zemen Welle weppynd be ther side. Such on wolde thi selfe slon That xii dar not abyde, Off alle my mery men, seid Robyne, Be my feithe I wil non haue. But litulle Johne shalle beyre my bow Til that me list to drawe . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . {372} Thou shalle beyre ‘thin own’[352] seid litulle Jon, Maister & I wil beyre myne, And we wille shete a peny, seid litulle Jon, Vnder the grene wode lyne. I wil not shete a peny, seyde Robyn Hode, In feith litulle Johne with thee, But euer for on as thou shetes, seid Robyn, In feith I hold the thre. Thus shet thei forthe these zemen too Bothe at buske and brome, Til litulle Johne wan of his maister V s. to hose and shone.