The first time Robin shot at the pricke, He mist but an inch it fro; The yeoman he was an archer good, But he cold never shoote soe. The second shoote had the wightye yeoman, He shote within the garlande; But Robin he shott far better than hee, For he clave the good pricke-wande. "A blessing upon thy heart," he sayd, "Good fellowe, thy shooting is goode For an thy hart be as good as thy hand, Thou wert better then Robin Hoode. Now tell me thy name, good fellowe," sayd he, "Under the leaves of lyne." "Nay, by my faith," quoth bolde Robin, "Till thou have told me thine." "I dwell by dale and downe," quoth hee, "And Robin to take Ime sworne; And when I am called by my right name, I am Guy of good Gisbrne." "My dwelling is in this wood," sayes Robin, "By thee I set right nought: I am Robin Hood of Barnesdale, Whom thou so long hast sought." He that had neither beene kithe nor kin, Might have seen a full fayre sight, To see how together these yeomen went With blades both browne and bright: To see how these yeomen together they fought Two howres of a summers day, Yett neither Robin Hood nor Sir Guy Them fettled to flye away. Robin was reachles on a roote, And stumbled at that tyde; And Guy was quicke and nimble with-all, And hitt him ore the left side. "Ah, deere Lady," sayd Robin Hood tho, "Thou art but mother and may'; I think it was never mans destinye To dye before his day." Robin thought on Our Ladye deere, And soone leapt up againe, And strait he came with a 'backward' stroke, And he Sir Guy hath slayne. He took Sir Guy's head by the hayre, And stuck itt upon his bowes end: "Thou hast beene a traytor all thy liffe, Which thing must have an end." Robin pulled forth an Irish kniffe, And nicked Sir Guy in the face, That he was never on woman born Cold tell whose head it was. Sayes, "Lye there, lye there now, Sir Guy, And with me be not wrothe; Iff thou have had the worst strokes at my hand, Thou shalt have the better clothe." Robin did off his gowne of greene, And on Sir Guy did throwe, And hee put on that capull hyde, That cladd him topp to toe. "The bowe, the arrowes, and litle horne, Now with me I will beare; For I will away to Barnesdale, To see how my men doe fare." Robin Hood sett Guy's horne to his mouth, And a loud blast in it did blow: That beheard the sheriffe of Nottingham, As he leaned under a lowe. "Hearken, hearken," sayd the sheriffe, "I heare nowe tydings good, For yonder I heare Sir Guy's horne blowe, And he hath slaine Robin Hoode.