272 ‘And yf I toke it i-twyse, A shame it were to me; But trewely, gentyll knyght, Welcom arte thou to me.’ 273 Whan Robyn had tolde his tale, He leugh and had good chere: ‘By my trouthe,’ then sayd the knyght, ‘Your money is redy here.’ 274 ‘Broke it well,’ sayd Robyn, ‘Thou gentyll knyght so fre; And welcome be thou, ge[n]tyll knyght, Under my trystell-tre. 275 ‘But what shall these bowës do?’ sayd Robyn, ‘And these arowës ifedred fre?’ ‘By God,’ than sayd the knyght, ‘A porë present to the.’ 276 ‘Come now forth, Lytell Johan, And go to my treasurë, And brynge me there foure hondred pounde; The monke ouer-tolde it me. 277 ‘Haue here foure hondred pounde, Thou gentyll knyght and trewe, And bye hors and harnes good, And gylte thy spores all newe. 278 ‘And yf thou fayle ony spendynge, Com to Robyn Hode, And by my trouth thou shalt none fayle, The whyles I haue any good. 279 ‘And broke well thy foure hondred pound, Whiche I lent to the, And make thy selfe no more so bare, By the counsell of me.’ 280 Thus than holpe hym good Robyn, The knyght all of his care: God, that syt in heuen hye, Graunte vs well to fare! THE FYFTH FYTTE. 281 Now hath the knyght his leue i-take, And wente hym on his way; Robyn Hode and his mery men Dwelled styll full many a day. 282 Lyth and lysten, gentil men, And herken what I shall say, How the proud[ë] sheryfe of Notyngham Dyde crye a full fayre play; 283 That all the best archers of the north Sholde come vpon a day, And [he] that shoteth allther best The game shall bere a way. 284 He that shoteth allther best, Furthest fayre and lowe, At a payre of fynly buttes, Under the grenë-wode shawe, 285 A ryght good arowe he shall haue, The shaft of syluer whyte, The hede and the feders of ryche rede golde, In Englond is none lyke. 286 This than herde good Robyn, Under his trystell-tre: ‘Make you redy, ye wyght yonge men; That shotynge wyll I se. 287 ‘Buske you, my mery yonge men, Ye shall go with me; And I wyll wete the shryuës fayth, Trewe and yf he be.’ 288 Whan they had theyr bowes i-bent, Theyr takles fedred fre, Seuen score of wyght yonge men Stode by Robyns kne. 289 Whan they cam to Notyngham, The buttes were fayre and longe; Many was the bolde archere That shoted with bowës stronge. 290 ‘There shall but syx shote with me; The other shal kepe my he[ue]de, And standë with good bowës bent, That I be not desceyued.’ 291 The fourth outlawe his bowe gan bende, And that was Robyn Hode, And that behelde the proud[ë] sheryfe, All by the but [as] he stode. 292 Thryës Robyn shot about, And alway he slist the wand, And so dyde good Gylberte Wyth the whytë hande.