‘Have here four hundred pound,’ said the Knight, ‘The which ye lent to me; And here is also twenty mark For your courtesy.’ CCLXXI ‘Nay, ’fore God,’ said Robin Hood, ‘Thou brook[859] it well for aye; For Our Lady, by her Cellarèr, Hath sent to me my pay. CCLXXII ‘And if I would it twicè take A shame it were to me; But truly now, thou gentle Knight, Welcome art thou to me.’ CCLXXIII When Robin Hood had told his tale, He laugh’d and made good cheer. ‘By my truthè,’ said the Knight, ‘Your money is ready here.’ CCLXXIV ‘Brook it well,’ said Robin Hood, ‘Thou gentle Knight so free; And welcome be thou, gentle Knight, Under my trystell-tree! CCLXXV ‘But what shall these bows do,’ said Robin, ‘And these arrows feather’d free?’-- ‘With your will,’ then said the Knight, ‘A poor present to thee.’-- CCLXXVI ‘Come now forth, Little John, And go to my treasurỳ, And bring me thence four hundred pound; The Monk overtold[860] it me. CCLXXVII ‘Have here four hundred pound, Thou gentle Knight and true, And buy thee horse and harness good, And giltè spurs all new. CCLXXVIII ‘And if thou fail any spending, Come to Robin Hood, And by my troth thou shalt none fail, While I have any good. CCLXXIX ‘And brook well thy four hundred pound, Which I lent to thee, And make thyself no more so bare, By the counsel of me.’ CCLXXX Thus then holp him good Robin, The Knight all of his care: God, that sitt’st in heaven high, Grant us well to fare! _The Fifth Fytte_ How at Archery in Nottingham Robin Hood was treacherously attacked, but escaped into Sir Richard’s Castle CCLXXXI Now hath the Knight his leave i-take, And went him on his way; Robin Hood and his merry men Dwelt still full many a day. CCLXXXII Lithe and listen, Gentlemen, And hearken what I shall say, How the proud Sheriff of Nottingham, Did cry a full fair play; CCLXXXIII That all the best archers of the North Should come upon a day, ‘And he that shooteth alder-best[861] The game shall bear away. CCLXXXIV ‘He that shooteth alder-best, Furthest, fair, and law[862], At a pair of fynly[863] butts, Under the green-wood shaw, CCLXXXV ‘A right good arrow he shall have, The shaft of silver white, The head and feathers of rich red gold, In England is none like.’ CCLXXXVI This then heardè good Robin, Under his trystell-tree: ‘Make you ready, ye wight young men; That shooting will I see. CCLXXXVII ‘Busk you, my merry young men, Ye shall go with me; And I will wete[864] the Sheriff’s faith, True an if he be. CCLXXXVIII