introduction or rejection of a capital letter; liberties, if they may be so called, which have been taken with most of the other poems in this collection. * * * * * Lithe and lysten, gentylmen, That be of frebore blode ; I shall you tell of a good yemàn, His name was Robyn Hode. {3} Robyn was a proude outlawe, Whyles he walked on grounde, So curteyse an outlawe as he was one Was never none yfounde. Robyn stode in Bernysdale, And lened hym to a tree, And by hym stode Lytell Johan, A good yeman was he ; And also dyde good Scathelock, And Much the millers sone ; There was no ynche of his body, But it was worthe a grome. Than bespake hym Lytell Johan All unto Robyn Hode, Mayster, yf ye wolde dyne betyme, It wolde do you moch good. Then bespake good Robyn, To dyne I have no lust, Tyll I have some bolde baròn, Or some unketh gest, [Or els some byshop or abbot][119] That may paye for the best ; Or some knyght or some squyere That dwelleth here by west. {4} A good maner than had Robyn, In londe where that he were, Every daye or he woulde dyne Thre messes wolde he here : The one in the worshyp of the fader, The other of the holy goost, The thyrde was of our dere lady, That he loved of all other moste. Robyn loved our dere lady, For doute of dedely synne ; Wolde he never do company harme That only woman was ynne. Mayster, than sayd Lytell Johan, And we our borde shall sprede, Tell us whether we shall gone, And what lyfe we shall lede ; Where we shall take, where we shall leve, Where we shall abide behynde, Where we shall robbe, where we shall reve, Where we shall bete and bynde. Ther of no fors, sayd Robyn, We shall do well ynough ; But loke ye do no housbonde harme That tylleth with his plough ; {5} No more ye shall no good yemàn, That walketh by grene wode shawe, Ne no knyght, ne no squyèr, That wolde be a good felawe. These bysshoppes, and thyse archebysshoppes, Ye shall them bete and bynde ; The hye sheryfe of Notynghame, Hym holde in your mynde. This worde shall be holde, sayd Lytyll Johan, And this lesson shall we lere ; It is ferre dayes, god sende us a gest, That we were at our dynere. Take thy good bowe in thy hande, said Robyn, Let Moche wende with the, And so shall Wyllyam Scathelocke, And no man abyde with me ; And walke up to the Sayles, And so to Watlynge-strete,[120] And wayte after some unketh gest, Up-chaunce ye mowe them mete. {6} Be he erle or ony baròn, Abbot or ony knyght, Brynge hym to lodge to me, Hys dyner shall be dyght. They wente unto the Sayles, These yemen all thre, They loked est, they loked west, They myght no man see. But as they loked in Barnysdale, By a derne strete, Then came there a knyght rydynge, Full sone they gan hym mete.