15 ‘Were þ_o_u not my maist_er_,’ seid Litull John, ‘Þ_o_u shuldis by hit ful sore; Get þe a man wher þ_o_u w[ilt], For þ_o_u get_is_ me no more.’ 16 Þen Robyn goes to Notyngh_a_m, Hym selfe mornyng allone, And Litull John to mery Scherwode, The pathes he knew ilkone. 17 Whan Robyn came to Notyngham, S_er_tenly w_i_t_h_outen layn, He prayed to God and myld Mary To bryng hym out saue agayn. 18 He gos in to Seynt Mary chirch, And kneled down before the rode; Alle þ_a_t eu_er_ were þe church w_i_t_h_in Beheld wel Robyn Hode. 19 Beside hym stod a gret-hedid munke, I pray to God woo he be! Fful sone he knew gode Robyn, As sone as he hym se. 20 Out at þe durre he ran, Fful sone and anon; Alle þe ȝatis of Notyngham He made to be sparred eu_er_ychon. 21 ‘Rise vp,’ he seid, ‘þ_o_u prowde schereff, Buske þe and make þe bowne; I haue spyed þe kyngg_is_ felon, Ffor sothe he is in þ_i_s town. 22 ‘I haue spyed þe false felon, As he stond_is_ at his masse; Hit is long of þe,’ seide þe munke, ‘And eu_er_ he fro vs passe. 23 ‘Þ_i_s trayt_u_r name is Robyn Hode, Vnd_e_r þe grene-wode lynde; He robbyt me onys of a hundred pound, Hit shalle neu_er_ out of my mynde.’ 24 Vp þen rose þ_i_s prowd_e_ shereff, And radly made hym ȝare; Many was þe mod_er_ son To þe kyrk w_i_t_h_ hym can fare. 25 In at þe durres þei throly thrast, W_i_t_h_ staves ful gode wone; ‘Alas, alas!’ seid Robyn Hode, ‘Now mysse I Litull John.’ 26 But Robyn toke out a too-hond sworde, Þ_a_t hangit down be his kne; Þ_e_r as þe schereff and his men stode thyckust, Thedurward_e_ wolde he. 27 Thryes thorowout þem he ran þen, For soþe as I yow sey, And woundyt mony a mod_er_ son, And twelue he slew þ_a_t day. 28 His sworde vpon þe schireff hed S_er_tanly he brake in too; ‘Þe smyth þ_a_t þe made,’ seid Robyn, ‘I pray to God wyrke hym woo! 29 ‘Ffor now am I weppynlesse,’ seid Robyn, ‘Alasse! agayn my wyll_e_; But if I may fle þese traytors fro, I wot þei wil me kyll.’ 30 Robyn in to the churchë ran, Throout hem eu_er_ilkon, * * * * * 31 Su_m_ fel in swonyng as þei were dede, And lay stil as any stone; Non of theym were i_n_ her mynde But only Litull Jon. 32 ‘Let be yo_u_r rule,’ seid Litull Jon, ‘Ffor his luf þ_a_t dyed on tre, Ȝe þ_a_t shulde be duȝty men; Het is gret shame to se. 33 ‘Oure maist_er_ has bene hard bystode And ȝet scapyd away; Pluk vp yo_u_r hert_is_, and leve þ_i_s mone, And harkyn what I shal say. 34 ‘He has s_er_uyd Oure Lady many a day, And ȝet wil, securly; Þ_er_for I trust in hir specialy No wyckud deth shal he dye. 35 ‘Þ_er_for be glad,’ seid Litul John, ‘And let þ_i_s mournyng be; And I shal be þe munk_is_ gyde, W_i_t_h_ þe myght of mylde Mary.