The deer may leap within the glade; The fawns may follow free-- For Robin is dead, and his bones are laid Beneath the greenwood tree. And broken are his merry, merry men, That goodly companie: There's some have ta'en the northern road With Jem of Netherbee. The best and bravest of the band With Derby Ned are gone; But Earlie Grey and Charlie Wood, They stayed with Little John. Now Little John was an outlaw proud, A prouder ye never saw; Through Nottingham and Leicester shires He thought his word was law, And he strutted through the greenwood wide, Like a pestilent jackdaw. He swore that none, but with leave of him, Should set foot on the turf so free: And he thought to spread his cutter's rule, All over the south countrie. "There's never a knave in the land," he said, "But shall pay his toll to me!" And Charlie Wood was a taxman good As ever stepped the ground, He levied mail, like a sturdy thief, From all the yeomen round. "Nay, stand!" quoth he, "thou shalt pay to me Seven pence from every pound!" Now word has come to Little John, As he lay upon the grass, That a Friar red was in merry Sherwood Without his leave to pass. "Come hither, come hither, my little foot-page! Ben Hawes, come tell to me, What manner of man is this burly frere Who walks the wood so free?" "My master good!" the little page said, "His name I wot not well, But he wears on his head a hat so red, With a monstrous scallop-shell. "He says he is Prior of Copmanshurst, And Bishop of London town, And he comes with a rope from our father the Pope, To put the outlaws down. "I saw him ride but yester-tide, With his jolly chaplains three; And he swears that he has an open pass From Jem of Netherbee!" Little John has ta'en an arrow so broad, And broken it o'er his knee; "Now may I never strike doe again, But this wrong avenged shall be! "And has he dared, this greasy frere, To trespass in my bound, Nor asked for leave from Little John To range with hawk and hound? "And has he dared to take a pass From Jem of Netherbee, Forgetting that the Sherwood shaws Pertain of right to me? "O were he but a simple man, And not a slip-shod frere! I'd hang him up by his own waist-rope Above yon tangled brere. "O did he come alone from Jem, And not from our father the Pope, I'd bring him into Copmanshurst, With the noose of a hempen rope! "But since he has come from our father the Pope, And sailed across the sea, And since he has power to bind and lose, His life is safe for me; But a heavy penance he shall do Beneath the greenwood tree!" "O tarry yet!" quoth Charlie Wood, "O tarry, master mine! It's ill to shear a yearling hog, Or twist the wool of swine! "It's ill to make a bonny silk purse From the ear of a bristly boar; It's ill to provoke a shaveling's curse, When the way lies him before.