423 They bente theyr bowes, and forth they went, Shotynge all in-fere, Towarde the towne of Notyngham, Outlawes as they were. 424 Our kynge and Robyn rode togyder, For soth as I you say, And they shote plucke-buffet, As they went by the way. 425 And many a buffet our kynge wan Of Robyn Hode that day, And nothynge spared good Robyn Our kynge in his pay. 426 ‘So God me helpë,’ sayd our kynge, ‘Thy game is nought to lere; I sholde not get a shote of the, Though I shote all this yere.’ 427 All the people of Notyngham They stode and behelde; They sawe nothynge but mantels of grene That couered all the felde. 428 Than euery man to other gan say, ‘I drede our kynge be slone; Comë Robyn Hode to the towne, i-wys On lyue he lefte neuer one.’ 429 Full hast[ë]ly they began to fle, Both yemen and knaues, And olde wyues that myght euyll goo, They hypped on theyr staues. 430 The kynge l[o]ughe full fast, And commaunded theym agayue; When they se our comly kynge, I-wys they were full fayne. 431 They ete and dranke, and made them glad, And sange with notës hye; Than bespake our comly kynge To Syr Rycharde at the Lee. 432 He gaue hym there his londe agayne, A good man he bad hym be; Robyn thanked our comly kynge, And set hym on his kne. 433 Had Robyn dwelled in the kyngës courte But twelue monethes and thre, That [he had] spent an hondred pounde, And all his mennes fe. 434 In euery place where Robyn came Euer more he layde downe, Both for knyghtës and for squyres, To gete hym grete renowne. 435 By than the yere was all agone He had no man but twayne, Lytell Johan and good Scathelocke, With hym all for to gone. 436 Robyn sawe yonge men shote Full fayre vpon a day; ‘Alas!’ than sayd good Robyn, ‘My welthe is went away. 437 ‘Somtyme I was an archere good, A styffe and eke a stronge; I was compted the best archere That was in mery Englonde. 438 ‘Alas!’ then sayd good Robyn, ‘Alas and well a woo! Yf I dwele lenger with the kynge, Sorowe wyll me sloo.’ 439 Forth than went Robyn Hode Tyll he came to our kynge: ‘My lorde the kynge of Englonde, Graunte me myn askynge. 440 ‘I made a chapell in Bernysdale, That semely is to se, It is of Mary Magdaleyne, And thereto wolde I be. 441 ‘I myght neuer in this seuen nyght No tyme to slepe ne wynke, Nother all these seuen dayes Nother ete ne drynke. 442 ‘Me longeth sore to Bernysdale, I may not be therfro; Barefote and wolwarde I haue hyght Thyder for to go.’ 443 ‘Yf it be so,’ than sayd our kynge, ‘It may no better be, Seuen nyght I gyue the leue, No lengre, to dwell fro me.’ 444 ‘Gramercy, lorde,’ then sayd Robyn, And set hym on his kne; He toke his leuë full courteysly, To grenë wode then went he.