191 Sone he was to souper sette, And serued well w_i_t_h_ siluer white, And whan the sherif sawe his vessell, For sorowe he myght nat ete. 192 ‘Make glad chere,’ sayde Robyn Hode, ‘Sherif, for charitë, And for the loue of Litill John_n_ Thy lyfe I graunt to the.’ 193 Wha_n_ they had souped well, The day was al gone; Robyn co_m_mau_n_de[d] Litell John_n_ To drawe of his hosen and his shone; 194 His kirtell, and his cote of pie, That was fured well and fine, And to[ke] hy_m_ a grene ma_n_tel, To lap his body therin. 195 Robyn com_m_au_n_dyd his wight yonge men, Vnder the grenë-wode tree, They shulde lye in that same sute, That the sherif myght them see. 196 All nyght lay the proudë sherif In his breche and in his [s]chert; No wonder it was, in grenë wode, Though his sydës gan to smerte. 197 ‘Make glade chere,’ sayde Robyn Hode, ‘Sheref, for charitë; For this is our ordre i-wys, Vnder the grenë-wode tree.’ 198 ‘This is harder order,’ sayde the sherief, ‘Than any ankir or frere; For all the golde in mery Englonde I wolde nat longe dwell her.’ 199 ‘All this twelue monthes,’ sayde Robin, ‘Thou shalt dwell with me; I shall the techë, proudë sherif, An outlawë for to be.’ 200 ‘Or I be here another nyght,’ sayde the sherif, ‘Robyn, nowe pray I the, Smyte of mijn hede rather to-morowe, And I forgyue it the. 201 ‘Lat me go,’ tha_n_ sayde the sherif, ‘For sayntë charitë, And I woll be the best[ë] frende That euer yet had ye.’ 202 ‘Thou shalt swere me an othe,’ sayde Robyn, ‘On my bright bronde; Shalt thou neuer awayte me scathe, By water ne by lande. 203 ‘And if thou fynde any of my men, By nyght or [by] day, Vpon thyn othë thou shalt swere To helpe them tha[t] thou may.’ 204 Nowe hathe the sherif sworne his othe, And home he began to gone; He was as full of grenë wode As euer was hepe of stone. THE FOURTH FYTTE. 205 The sherif dwelled in Notingham; He was fayne he was agone; And Robyn and his mery men Went to wode anone. 206 ‘Go we to dyner,’ sayde Littell John_n_; Robyn Hode sayde, Nay; For I drede Our Lady be wroth with me, For she sent me nat my pay. 207 ‘Haue no doute, maister,’ sayde Litell John_n_; ‘Yet is nat the sonne at rest; For I dare say, and sauely swere, The knight is true and truste.’ 208 ‘Take thy bowe in thy hande,’ sayde Robyn, ‘Late Much wende with the, And so shal Wyllyam Scarlok, #b.# And no man abyde with me. 209 ‘And walke vp vnder the Sayles, And to Watlynge-strete, And wayte after some vnketh gest; Vp-chaunce ye may them mete. 210 ‘Whether he be messengere, Or a man that myrthës can, Of my good he shall haue some, Yf he be a porë man.’