Robin Hood / A collection of all the ancient poems, songs, and ballads, now extant, relative to that celebrated English outlaw. To which are prefixed historical anecdotes of his life.

by Unknown

FOOTNOTES TO “NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS”, pp. xiv–cxviii

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[4] See Part II. Ballad 1.

[5] All three mention a Loxley in Warwickshire, and another in Staffordshire (“near Needwood forest; the manor and seat of the Kinardsleys”).

[6] It is 1100 in the original, but that is clearly an error of the press.

[7] King Edward, it is true, is introduced in the “Lytell Geste,” &c., but the author has unquestionably meant the first of that name.

[8] Thus, likewise, in a much earlier version from the same immortal bard (Homer a la mode, 1664), we read of

“

greate Apollo, who’s as good

At pricks and buts as Robin Hood.”

[9] Alias R. G., the scurrilous and malignant editor of that degraded publication.

[10] The authority cited by Grafton in 1569 as then “olde and auncient” must have been at least of equal antiquity with the most ancient poems that Dr. P. is acquainted with.

[11] Stukeley’s Palæographia Britannica, No. II. p. 115. In an interleaved copy of Robin Hood’s Garland formerly belonging to Dr. Stukeley, and now in the possession of Francis Douce, esquire, opposite the second page of the first song, is the following note in his own hand:

The Doctor seems, by this pedigree, to have founded our hero’s pretensions on his descent from Roisia, sister of Robert Fitzgilbert, husband of Alice, youngest daughter of Judith, Countess of Huntingdon, which, whatever it might do in those times, would scarcely be thought sufficient to support such a claim at present. Beside, though John the Scot died without issue, he left three sisters, all married to powerful barons, either in Scotland or in England, none of whom, however, assumed the title. It is, therefore, probable, after all, that Robin Hood derived his earldom by some other channel.

Dr. Stukeley, whose learned labours are sufficiently known and esteemed, was a professed antiquary, and a beneficed clergyman of the Church of England. He has not, it is true, thought it necessary to cite any ancient or other authority in support of the above representations; nor is it in the editor’s power to supply the deficiency. Perhaps, indeed, the Doctor might think himself entitled to expect that his own authority would be deemed sufficient: upon that, however, they must be content to rest. Sit fides penes auctorem! Mr. Parkin, who published “A reply to the peevish, weak, and malevolent objections brought by Dr. Stukeley in his Origines Roystonianæ, No. 2” (Norwich, 1748, 4to), terms “his pedigree of Robin Hood, quite jocose, an original indeed!” (See pp. 27, 32.)

Otho and Fitz-Otho, it must be confessed, were common names among the Anglo-Normans,* but no such name as Othes, Ooth, Fitz-Othes, or Fitz-Ooth, has been elsewhere met with. Philip de Kime, also, was certainly a considerable landholder in the county of Lincoln in the time of King Henry II., but it nowhere appears, except from Dr. Stukeley, that his surname was Fitz-Ooth.

The Doctor likewise informs us that the arms of Ralph Fitz-Ooth, and consequently of our hero, were “g. two bendlets engrailed, o.”

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* “Filius Roberti filii Odonis est in custodia Domini Regis, et est vj annorum, et ipse est heres decime partis unius militis, et vix possunt inde habere victum suum ipse et mater sua.” Rotulus de vidius, &c. (31 H. 2) MSS. Har. 624.

[12] Grafton’s Chronicle, p. 85.

[13] Collec. i. 54.

[14] See Robin Hood’s Progress to Nottingham, part ii. ballad 2.

[15] Plompton Park, upon the banks of the Peterill, in Cumberland, was formerly very large, and set apart by the kings of England for the keeping of deer. It was disafforested or disparked by Henry VIII. See Camden’s Britannia, by Bishop Gibson, who seems to confound this park with Inglewood forest, a district of sixteen miles in length, reaching from Carlisle to Penrith, where the kings of England used to hunt, and Edward I. is reported to have killed 200 bucks in one day (Ibid.)

[16] Anno 1194] Vicesima nona die mensis martii Richardus rex Angliæ projectus est videre Clipestone, & forrestas de Sirewode, quas ipse nunquam viderat antea: & placuerunt ei multum, & eodem die rediit ad Notingham (R. de Hoveden, Annales, p. 736).

Drayton (Polyolbion, song 26) introduces Sherwood in the character of a nymph, who, out of disdain at the preference shown by the poet to a sister-forest,

“All self praise set apart, determineth to sing

That lusty Robin Hood, who long time like a king

Within her compass liv’d, and when he list to range,

For some rich booty set, or else his air to change,

To Sherwood still retir’d, his only standing court.”

[17] It occurs in “Tarlton’s Newes out of Purgatory,” 1630, 4to (entered on the Stationers’ books in 1590).

[18] It likewise gives the proverb noticed in a preceding page thus:

“Were he as good as George a Greene, I would strike him sure.”

[19] There is an edition in 1706, 8vo.

[20] Scotish Poems, i. 122.

[21] Surely the “lady” alluded to in the old May-game cannot be our Maid Marian. The earliest notice of her occurs in Barclay’s Egloges, about 1500, where she is evidently connected with Robin Hood. See Note [26.]

[22] Without “the ancient songs,” to which the Doctor refers, are confined to his “old MS.,” he evidently asserts what he would probably find it difficult to prove. As for the passage he produces, it seems nothing to the purpose; as, in the first place, it is apparently not “antient,” and, in the second, it is apparently not from a “song of Robin Hood.”

[23] Mr. Warton, having observed that “The play of Robin and Marian is said to have been performed by the school-boys of Angiers, according to annual custom, in the year 1392: The boys were deguisiez, says the old French record; and they had among them un fillette desguisee (Carpent. Du Cange, v. Robinet-Pentecoste),” adds, “Our old character of Mayd Marian may be hence illustrated” (His. En. po. i. 245). This, indeed, seems sufficiently plausible; but unfortunately the Robin and Marian of Angiers are not the Robin and Marian of Sherwood. The play is still extant. See Fabliaux ou Contes, Paris, 1781, ii. 144. There are, likewise, some very ancient pastoral ballads on the subject of these two lovers. See La Borde, Essai sur la Musique, ii. 163, 215. But, in fact, the names of Robin and Marion seem to have been used by the chansonniers of antiquity like those of Colin and Phœbe, &c.

[24] In 1592, Richard Jones, stationer, entered on the Company’s books, “A plesant fancie, or merrie conceyt, called the passion et morrys, daunst by a crue of 8 couple of wores.

[25] “The quarry from whence King Wolfere fetched stones for his royal structure [i.e. Peterborough] was undoubtedly that of Bernach near unto Stamford . . . . And I find in the charter of K. Edward the Confessor, which he granted to the abbot of Ramsey, that the abbot of Ramsey should give to the abbot and convent of Peterburgh 4000 eeles in the time of Lent, and in consideration thereof the abbot of Peterburgh should give to the abbot of Ramsey as much freestone from his pitts in Bernack, and as much ragstone from his pitts in Peterburgh as he should need. Nor did the abbot of Peterburgh from these pits furnish only that but other abbies also, as that of St. Edmunds-Bury: in memory whereof there are two long stones yet standing upon a balk in Castor-field, near unto Gunwade-ferry; which erroneous tradition hath given out to be draughts of arrows from Alwalton churchyard thither; the one of Robin Hood, and the other of Little John; but the truth is, they were set up for witnesses, that the carriages of stone from Bernack to Gunwade-ferry, to be conveyed to S. Edmunds-Bury, might pass that way without paying toll; and in some old terrars they are called S. Edmund’s stones. These stones are nicked in their tops after the manner of arrows, probably enough in memory of S. Edmund, who was shot to death with arrows by the Danes” (Gunton’s History of the Church of Peterburgh, 1686, p. 4).

[26] “In this relation,” Mr. Walker observes, “the Doctor not only evinces his credulity, but displays his ignorance of archery; for the ingenious and learned Mr. Barrington, than whom no man can be better informed on the subject, thinks that eleven score and seven yards is the utmost extent that an arrow can be shot from a long bow” (Archæologia, vol. viii.) According to tradition, he adds, Little John shot an arrow from the Old-bridge, Dublin, to the present site of St. Michael’s church, a distance not exceeding, he believes, that mentioned by Mr. Barrington (Historical Essay on the Dress of the Ancient and Modern Irish, p. 129).

What Mr. Barrington “thinks” may be true enough, perhaps, of the Toxophilite Society and other modern archers; but people should not talk of Robin Hood who never shot in his bow. The above ingenious writer’s censure of Dr. Hanmer’s credulity and ignorance, seems to be misapplied, since he cannot be supposed to believe what he holds not for truth, and actually leaves among the lyes of the land.

See also the old song, printed in the Appendix, No. 3. Drayton, who wrote before archery had fallen into complete disuse, says—

“At marks full forty score they us’d to prick and rove.”

That Mr. Barrington, indeed, was very ill informed on the subject is evident from a most scarce book in the editor’s possession, intitled “Aime for the archers of St. George’s fields, containing the names of all the marks in the same fields, with their true distances according to the dimensuration of the line. Formerly gathered by Richard Hannis, and now corrected by Thomas Bick and others. London, Printed by N. Howell for Robert Minehard and Benjamin Brownsmith, and are to be sold at the sign of the man in the moon in Blackman street, 1664,” 16mo, where the distance from Alpha to Bick’s memorial is 18 score 16 yards; and 11 score 7 yards (though there are inferior numbers, the lowest being 9, 12) appears to be a very moderate shot indeed. Two of these marks are Robin Hood and Little John. See also Shakespeare’s Second Part of K. Henry IV., act iii. scene 2, where it is said that Old Double “would have clapp’d i’ the clout at twelve score; and carry’d you a forehand shaft a fourteen and fourteen and a half;” and the notes upon the passage in Steevens’s edition, 1793. It is probable, after all, that the word forty in Drayton is an error, of the transcriber or pressman, for fourteen.

Whatever Robin Hood’s father might do, there can be no question that the author of the old ballad in which he is mentioned (part ii. song 1) has “shot in a lusty strong bow” when he speaks of

“Two north-country miles and an inch at a shot.”

[27] Warner’s Albion’s England, 1602, p. 132. It is part of the hermit’s speech to the Earl of Lancaster.

[28] Sir Roger Williams, in his Briefe discourse of warre, 1590, has a chapter “To prooue bow-men the worst shot vsed in these daies.” Sir John Smythe, however, was of a different opinion. See his “Discourses concerning the formes and effects of divers sorts of weapons, &c. As also, of the great sufficiencie, excellencie, and wonderful effects of archers,” 1590, 4to. See also a different treatise by him upon the same subject in Num. 132 of the Harleian MSS.

[29] “A prince who fills the throne with a disputed title dares not arm his subjects, the only method of securing a people fully both against domestic oppression and foreign conquest” (Hume’s Essays, “Of the Protestant Succession”).

[30] Flemings.

[31] Breeches.

[32] Thus also in part ii. ballad 1:

“She got on her holyday kirtle and gown

They were of a light Lincolne green.”

[33] In the sign of The green man and still, we perceive a huntsman in a green coat standing by the side of a still; in allusion, as it has been facetiously conjectured, to the partiality shown by that description of gentry to a morning dram. The genuine representation, however, should be the green-man (or man who deals in green herbs) with a bundle of peppermint or penny-royal under his arm, which he brings to have distilled.

“And farewell all gaie garments now,

With jewels riche of rare devise:

Like Robin Hood, I wot not how,

I must goe raunge in woodmen’s wyse,

Cladde in a cote of greene or gray,

And gladde to get it if i maye.”

The workes of a young wyt, Done by N. B. Gent. 1577, 4to, b. l.

[34] There appears, however, to be a town of this name in Flanders, which may be the place here meant. The above conjecture, therefore, will be received for no more than it is worth.

[35] When Bulas, or Felix, the robber, was brought before Papinian, the latter asked him why he gave himself up to robbing and spoiling: “And why, sir,” was the answer, “are you ‘a governor’?” See Dio Cassius in Severus.

“Because I do that,” said the pirate to Alexander, “with a single ship which thou dost with a great fleet, I am called a thief, and thou art called a king.”

[36] See Pennant’s Tour in Scotland MDCCLXXII. part i. p. 404. The original reading, whether altered by mistake or design, is—

“—pacisque imponere morem.”

One might, to the same purpose, address our hero in the words of Plautus (Trinummus, act iv. scene x):

“Atque hanc tuam gloriam jam ante auribus acceperam, et nobiles apud homines,

Pauperibus te parcere solitum, divites damnare atque domare.

Abi, laudo, scis ordine, ut æquom’st,

Tractare homines, hoc dis dignum’st, semper mendicis modesti sint.”

“

I’ve heard before

This commendation of you, and from great ones,

That you were wont to spare the indigent,

And crush the wealthy.—I applaud your justice

In treating men according to their merits.—

’Tis worthy of the gods to have respect

Unto the poor.”

[37]

“Richard Cœur de Lyon cald a king and conquerour was,

With Phillip king of France who did unto Jerusalemm passe:

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In this king’s time was Robyn Hood, that archer and outlawe,

And little John his partener eke, unto them which did drawe

One hondred tall and good archers, on whom foure hondred men,

Were their power never so strong, could not give onset then;

The abbots, monkes, and carles rich these onely did molest,

And reskewd woemen when they saw of theeves them so opprest;

Restoring poore men’s goods, and eke abundantly releeved

Poore travellers which wanted food, or were with sicknes greeved.”

(Third Assertion, &c., quoted elsewhere.)

[38] That this epitaph had been printed, or was well known, at least, long before the publication of Mr. Thoresby’s book, if not before either he or Dr. Gale was born, appears from the “True Tale of Robin Hood” by Martin Parker, written, if not printed, as early as 1631. (See post, p. [126].) That dates, about this period, were frequently by ides and kalends, see Madox’s Formulare Anglicanum (Dissertation), p. xxx. Even Arabic figures are produced in some of still greater antiquity; see Collectanea de rebus Hibernicis, ii. 331. Robert Grosthead, Bishop of Lincoln, makes use of these figures about the year 1240. Astle’s Origin of Writing, p. 188.

[39] In “The Travels of Tom Thumb over England and Wales” [by Mr. Robert Dodsley], p. 106, is another though inferior version:

“Here, under this memorial stone,

Lies Robert earl of Huntingdon;

As he, no archer e’er was good,

And people call’d him Robin Hood:

Such outlaws as his men and he

Again may England never see.”

[40] In “a large folio volume of accounts kept by Mr. Philip Henslowe, who appears to have been proprietor of the Rose theatre near the Bankside in Southwark,” he has entered—

“Feb.
1597–8.

• The first part of Robin Hood, by Anthony Mundy.
• The second part of the downfall of earl Hun­ting­ton, sirnamed Robinhood, by Anthony Mundy and Henry Chettle.”

In a subsequent page is the following entry: “Lent unto Robarte Shawe, the 18 of Novemb. 1598, to lend unto Mr. Cheattle, upon the mending of the first part of Robart Hoode, the sum of xs.;” and afterwards—“For mending of Robin Hood for the corte.” See Malone’s edition of “The Plays and Poems of William Shakespeare,” 1790, vol. i. part ii. (Emendations and additions.)

[41] That is, the inn so called, upon Ludgate Hill. The modern sign, which, however, seems to have been the same 200 years ago, is a bell and a wild man; but the original is supposed to have been a beautiful Indian; and the inscription, La belle sauvage. Some, indeed, assert that the inn once belonged to a Lady Arabella Savage; and others, that its name, originally The bell and savage, arose (like The George and blue boar) from the junction of two inns, with those respective signs. Non nostrûm est tantas componere lites.

[42] She is called the Widow Scarlet; so that Scathlocke was the elder brother. In fact, however, it was mere ignorance in the author to suppose the Scathlocke and Scarlet of the story distinct persons, the latter name being an evident corruption of the former; Scathlock, Scadlock, Scarlock, Scarlet.

[43] In “The booke of the inventary of the goods of my lord admeralles men tacken the 10 of Marche in the yeare 1598,” are the following properties for Robin Hood and his retinue in this identical play:

“Item, . . . . i green gown for Maryan.

Item, vi grene cottes for Roben Hoode, and iiii knaves sewtes.

Item, i hatte for Robin Hoode, i hobihorse.

Item, Roben Hoodes sewtte.

Item, the fryers trusse in Roben Hoode.”

Malone’s Shak. II. ii. (Emen. & ad.)

[44] George a Greene and Wakefield’s pinner were one and the same person. The shoemaker of Bradford is anonymous.

[45] Which, by the way, was termed a hempen caudle. See the Second Part of K. H. VI., act iv. scene 7. Lord-Chancellor Jeffries, at the revolution, was treated much in the same manner. One day, during his confinement in the Tower, he received a barrel of oysters, upon which he observed to his keeper, “Well, you see, I have yet some friends left:” at the bottom of the barrel, however, he found a halter; which changed his countenance, and is even thought to have hastened his death.

[46] See the ballad of “The Jolly Pinder of Wakefield,” part ii. num. iii.

[47] Fitzwater confounds one man with another; Harold Harefoot was the son and successor of Canute the great.

[48] This tradition is referred to, and the inscription given, in Ray’s Itineraries, 1760, p. 153:—“We rode through a bushet or common called Rodwell-hake, two miles from Leeds, where (according to the vulgar tradition) was once found a stag, with a ring of brass about its neck, having this inscription:

When Julius Cæsar here was king,

About my neck he put this ring;

Whosoever doth me take,

Let me go for Cæsar’s sake.”

In The Midwife, or Old Woman’s Magazine (vol. i. p. 250), Mrs. Midnight, in a let­ter “To the ven­er­able society of anti­quar­ians,” containing a description of Cæsar’s camp on Wind­sor forest, has the following passage: “There have been many extra­or­di­nary things dis­covered about this camp. One thing, I par­tic­u­lar­ly re­mem­ber, was a deer of about sixteen hundred years old. . . . . . This deer it seems was a favourite of Cæsar’s, and on that account he bedecked her neck with a golden collar and an inscription, which I shall by and by take notice of; she had been frequently taken, but when the hunters, the peasants, and poor people saw the golden collar on her neck, they readily let her go again. However, as she continually increased in strength and in bulk, as well as in age, after the course of about fifteen or sixteen centuries, the flesh and skin were entirely grown over this collar, so that it could not be discover’d till after she was kill’d, and then to the surprise of the virtuosi it appear’d with this inscription:

When Julius Cæsar reigned here,

Then was I a little deer;

If any man should me take,

Let me go for Cæsar’s sake.

“This collar, which is of pure gold, I am told weighs thirty ounces, and as the blood of the creature still appears fresh upon it, I believe it may be as valuable as any of your gimcracks; however, there will be no harm in my sending of it to you; and if I can procure it, you may depend on my taking the utmost care of it.” As no notice is announced of this wonderful piece of antiquity in the voluminous and important lucubrations of the above learned body, it most probably never came into their possession; which is very much to be lamented, as it would have been an admirable companion for Hardecnute’s chamber-pot, King Edward the first’s finger, and other similar curiosities.

Juvenal des Ursins gravely relates that in the year 1380 a hart was taken at Senlis with a chain about his neck inscribed “Cæsar hoc me donavit.”*

Upton, to be even with him, supposes a hart to have been taken at Bagshot near Windsor, with a motto on the collar in the French language, which proves the ancient Romans were familiar therewith long before it existed:

“Julius Cæsar, quant jeo fus petis,

Cest coler suz mon col ad mys.Ӡ

This dictator perpetuo, in fact, seems to have collared every hart he took. The family of Pompei in Italy use two harts for their supporters on whose collars were the letters N. M. T., in memory of one on whose collar were these words: “Nemo Me Tangat, Cæsaris sum.” Anstis, ii. 113.

The original of all these stories is to be found in Pliny, who says: “It is generally held and confessed that the stagge or hind live long; for an hundred yeer after Alexander the great, some were taken with golden collars about their necks, overgrowne now with haire and growne within the skin: which collars the said king had done upon them” (Naturall Historie, by Holland, 1601, B. 8, c. 32). Pausanias, moreover, speaking of one Leocydas, who fought for the Megalopolitans, in conjunction with Lydiades, against the Lacedæmonians (about the year 243 before Christ), says he was reported to be the descendant in the ninth degree of that Arcesilaus, who living in Lycosura saw that stag which is sacred to the goddess Despoine worn out with old age. This stag, he adds, had a collar on its neck with the following inscription:

Caught young, when Agapenor sail’d for Troy.

By which, he concludes, it is evident that a stag lives much longer than an elephant (B. 8, c. 10).

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* Histoire de Charles VI.

† Upton de re militari, p. 119.

[49] Robin, in the old legend, expresses his regard for this order of men (concerning which the reader may consult an ingenious “Essay” in the Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, vol. i., and some “Observations” in a collection of ancient songs, printed in 1790):

“Whether he be messengere,

Or a man that myrthes can,

Or yf he be a pore man,

Of my good he shall have some.”

[50] This play is entered in Master Henslowe’s account-book with the date of December 1600. See Malone’s Shakespeare, vol. ii. part ii. (Emen. & ad.)

[51] “The Triumphes of Reunited Britannia. A pageant in honour of Sir Leonard Holliday, lord mayor.” 1605.

[52] Henry Fitz-Alwine Fitz-Liefstane, goldsmith, first mayor of London, was appointed to that office by King Richard I. in 1189, and continued therein till the 15th of King John, 1212, when he “deceased, and was buried in the priorie of the holy trinitie, neare unto Aldgate” (Stow’s Survey, 1598, p. 418). His relationship with Robin Hood is merely poetical, and invented by Mundy “for the nonce;” though it is by no means improbable that they were acquainted, and that our hero might have occasionally dined at the Mansion-house on a Lord Mayor’s day.

[53] Jonson was led into this mistake by the old play of Robin Hood. See before, p. lv.

[54] This play appears to have been performed upon the stage after the Restoration. The prologue and epilogue (spoken by Mr. Portlock) are to be found in num. 1009 of the Sloane MSS. It was republished, with a continuation and notes, by Mr. Waldron, of Drury-lane Theatre, in 1783.

[55] A most stupid pantomime on this subject, under the title of “Merry Sherwood, or Harlequin, forester,” was performed in December 1795, at the Theatre-royal, Covent-garden.

[56] 1st edit. 1550, fo. xxvi. b. (Randolf is misprinted Rand of.) Subsequent editions, even of the same year, reading only “Randall of Chester.” Mr. Warton (History of English Poetry, ii. 179) makes this genius, whom he calls a frier, say “that he is well acquainted with the rimes of Randall of Chester;” and these rimes he, whimsically enough, conjectures to be the old Chester Whitsun plays; which, upon very idle and nonsensical evidence, he supposes to have been written by Randal Higden, the compiler of the Polychronicon. Of course, if this absurd idea were at all well founded, the rimes of Robin Hood must likewise allude to certain Yorkshire or Not­ting­ham­shire plays, written by himself. The “Randolf erl of Chester” here meant is Randal Blundevile, the last earl of that name, who had been in the Holy Land, was a great warrior and patriot, and died in 1231.

The reading of the original edition is confirmed by a very old manuscript in the Cotton Library (Vespasian, B. XVI.) differing considerably from the printed copies, which gives the passage thus:

“I can nouzt perfiitli my pater-noster as a prest it syngeth:

I can rymes of Robyn Hood, of Rondolf erl of Chestre,

Ac of oure lorde ne of oure ladi the leste that ever was maked.”

(See also Caligula, A. XI.)

The speaker himself could have told Mr. Warton he was no frier:

“I have ben prieste & person passynge thyrty winter,

Yet can I nether solfe, ne singe, ne sayntes lyves read;

But I can find in a fielde or in a furlong an hare,

Better than in Beatus vir or in Beati omnes

Construe one clause well, & kenne it to my parishens.”

[57] “De quibus stolidum wigus hianter in comœdiis & tragædiis prurienter festum faciunt, & super ceteras ‘romancias mimos & bardanos cantitare delectantur” (Scotichronicon, à Hearne, p. 774). Comedies and tragedies are—not dramatic compositions, but—poems of a comic or serious cast. Romance in Spanish, and romance in French, signify—not a tale of chivalry, but—a vulgar ballad, at this day.

[58] “Rebus hujus Roberti gestis tota Britannia in cantibus utitur” (Majoris Britanniæ Historia, Edin. 1740, p. 128).

[59] Hystory of Scotland, Edin. 1541, fo. The word “waithman” was probably suggested by Andrew of Wyntown (see before, Note [3]). It seems equivalent to the English vagabond, or perhaps outlaw. Waith is waif; and it is to be remembered that, in the technical language of the English courts, a woman is said to be waived, and not outlawed. “In our auld Scottish langage,” says Skene, “ane Vothman is ane out-law, or ane fugitive fra the lawes” (De verborum significatione, Edin. 1597). It is from þæðan, venari, fugare. See Lye’s Dictionary. The passage above quoted does not occur in Boise’s original work.

[60] Of this poem there have been at least five editions at London or Westminster, and one at Edinburgh. In a list of “bookes printed and . . . sold by Jane Bell, at the east end of Christ-church [1655],” in company with Frier Rush, The frier and the boy, &c., is “a book of Robin Hood and Little John.” Captain Cox of Coventry appears to have had a copy of some old edition: see Laneham’s Letter from Killingworth, 1575.

[61] “Description of the Town of Tottenham-high-crosse,” &c. London (1631, 4to), 1781, 8vo. The invaluable MS. alluded to has been since discovered; and the entire poem, of which Mr. Ritson has here given a fragment, will be found in the Appendix.—ED.

[62] The book, under the same title, printed by Wynken de Worde, in 1517, is a different translation in prose.

[63] Mr. Warton reads Toby; and so, perhaps, it may be in former editions.

[64] Honest Barnaby, i.e. Richard Brathwayte, who wrote or travelled about 1640, was well acquainted with our hero’s story.

“Veni Nottingham tyrones

Sherwoodenses sunt latrones.

Instar Robin Hood, & servi

Scarlet & Joannis Parvi;

Passim, sparsim, peculantur,

Cellis, sylvis deprædantur.”

“Thence to Nottingham, where rovers,

Highway riders, Sherwood drovers,

Like old Robin Hood and Scarlet,

Or like Little John his varlet;

Here and there they shew them doughty,

In cells and woods to get their booty.”

Whitlock relates that “the [parliament] committee who carried the propositions of peace to Oxford, had the king’s answer sealed up and sent to them. They, upon advice together, thought it not fit for them to receive an answer in that manner . . . and made an address to his majesty that they might know what his answer was, and have a copy of it: to which his majesty replied, What is that to you, who are but to carry what I send, and if I will send the song of Robin Hood and Little John, you must carry it? To which the commissioners only said, that the business about which they came was of somewhat more consequence than that song” (Memorials, p. 115).

[65] There is, in fact, such a place as Barnwood forest, in Buckinghamshire; but no one, except Mr. Hearne, has hitherto supposed that part of the country to have been frequented by our hero. Barnwood, in the case reported by Yelverton, has clearly arisen from a confusion of Barnsdale and green wood. “Robin Hood in the greenwood stood” was likewise the beginning of an old song now lost (see post, p. [197]): and it is not a little remarkable that Jefferies, serjeant, on the trial of Pilkington and others, for a riot, in 1683, by a similar confusion, quotes the line in question thus:

“Robin Hood upon Greendale stood” (State-trials, iii. 634).

A third corruption has taken place in Parker, p. 131 (King v. Cotton), though expressly cited from Yelverton, viz.

“Robin Hood in Barnwell stood.”

The following most vulgar and indecent rime, current among the peasantry in the North of England, may have been intended to ridicule the perpetual repetition of “Robin Hood in greenwood stood:”

Robin Hood

In green-wood stood.

With his back against a tree;

He fell flat

Into a cow-plat,

And all besh—n was he

[66] It is possible that, amid these absurdities, there may be other lines of the old song of Robin Hood, which is the only reason for reviving them.

“O sleepst thou, or wakst thou, Jeffery Cooke?”

occurs, likewise, in a medley of a similar description, in Pammelia 1609.

[67] In “Heraclitus ridens, or a discourse between Jest and Earnest,” a periodical paper against the Whigs, published in 1681, and collected and republished in 1713 (No. 34), Jest begins singing:

“Bills, bows, and axes, quoth Robin Hood,

But I have not time to tell;

Yonder’s the sheriff and his company,

But I hope all will be well.

Hei, down, derry, derry, down;”

and says, “I hope I may sing of old Robin without offending a grand jury, or being presented for disuniting Protestants.”

In The Gentleman’s Magazine for December 1790 is the first verse of a song used by the inhabitants of Helston in Cornwall on the celebration of an annual festivity on the 8th of May, called the Furry-day, supposed Flora’s day, not, it is imagined, “as many have thought, in remembrance of some festival instituted in honour of that goddess, but rather from the garlands commonly worn on that day.” (See the same publication for June and October 1790.) This verse was the whole that Mr. Urban’s correspondent could then recollect, but he thought he might be afterwards able “to send all that is known of it, for,” he says, “it formerly was very long, but is now much forgotten.” The stanza is as follows:

“Robin Hood and Little John

They are both gone to fair O;

And we will go to the merry green-wood,

To see what they do there O.

With hel an tow,

And rum-be-low,

And chearily we’ll get up,

As soon as any day O,

All for to bring the summer home,

The summer and the May O.”

“After which,” he adds, “there is something about the grey goose wing; from all which,” he concludes, “the goddess Flora has nothing to say to it.” She may have nothing to say to the song, indeed, and yet a good deal to do with the thing. But the fact is, that the first eight days of May, or the first day and the eighth, seem to have been devoted by the Celtic nations to some great religious ceremony. Certain superstitious observances of this period still exist in the Highlands of Scotland, where it is called the Bel-tein; Beltan, in that country, being a common term for the beginning of May, as “between the Beltans” is a saying significant of the first and eighth days of that month. The games of Robin Hood, as we shall elsewhere see, were, for whatever reason, always celebrated in May.—N.B. “Hel-an-tow,” in the above stanza, should be heave and how. Heave and how, and Rumbelow, was an ordinary chorus to old ballads, and is at least as ancient as the reign of Edward II., since it occurs in the stanza of a Scotish song, preserved by some of our old historians, on the battle of Bannockburn.

To lengthen this long note: Among the Harleian MSS. (num. 367) is the fragment of “a tale of Robin Hood dialouge-wise beetweene Watt and Jeffry. The morall is the overthrowe of the abbyes; the like being attempted by the Puritane, which is the wolfe, and the politician, which is the fox, agaynst the bushops. Robin Hood, bushop; Adam Bell, abbot; Little John, colleagues of the university.” This seems to have been a common mode of satirising both the old Church and the reformers. In another MS. of the same collection (N. 207), written about 1532, is a tract entitled “The banckett of John the reve, unto Peirs Ploughman, Laurens Laborer, Thomlyn Tailyor, and Hobb of the Hille, with others;” being, as Mr. Wanley says, a dispute concerning transubstantiation by a Roman Catholic. The other, indeed, is much more modern: it alludes to the indolence of the abbots, and their falling off from the original purity in which they were placed by the bishops, whom it inclines to praise. The object of its satire seems to be the Puritans; but here it is imperfect, though the lines preserved are not wholly destitute of poetical merit.—“Robin Hood and the Duke of Lancaster, a ballad, to the tune of The Abbot of Canterbury,” 1727, is a satire on Sir Robert Walpole.

[68] Chatterton, in his “Memoirs of a Sad Dog,” represents “Baron Otranto” (meaning the honourable Horace Walpole, now Earl of Orford), when on a visit to “Sir Stentor,” as highly pleased with Robin Hood’s ramble, “melodiously chaunted by the knight’s groom and dairy-maid, to the excellent music of a two-stringed violin and bag-pipe,” which transported him back “to the age of his favourite hero, Richard the Third;” whereas, says he, “the songs of Robin Hood were not in being till the reign of Queen Elizabeth.” This, indeed, may be in a great measure true of those which we now have, but there is sufficient evidence of the existence and popularity of such-like songs for ages preceding; and some of these, no doubt, were occasionally modernised or new-written, though most of them must be allowed to have perished.

The late Dr. Johnson, in controverting the authenticity of Fingal, a composition in which the author, Mr. Macpherson, has made great use of some unquestionably ancient Irish ballads, said, “He would undertake to write an epick poem on the story of Robin Hood, and half England, to whom the names and places he should mention in it are familiar, would believe and declare they had heard it from their earliest years” (Boswell’s Journal, p. 486).

[69] The following note is inserted in the fourth edition of the Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, published in July 1795 (vol. i. p. xcvii.):

“Of the 24 songs in what is now called ‘Robin Hood’s Garland,’ many are so modern as not to be found in Pepys’s collection, completed only in 1700. In the [editor’s] folio MS. are ancient fragments of the following, viz.—Robin Hood and the beggar.—Robin Hood and the butcher.—Robin Hood and fryer Tucke.—Robin Hood and the pindar.—Robin Hood and queen Catharine, in two parts.—Little John and the four beggars, and “Robine Hood his death.” This last, which is very curious, has no resemblance to any that have yet been published; [it is probably num. xxviii. of part ii.], and the others are extremely different from the printed copies; but they unfortunately are in the beginning of the MS. where half of every leaf hath been torn away.”

As this MS. “contains several songs relating to the civil war in the last century,” the mere circumstance of its comprising fragments of the above ballads is no proof of a higher antiquity; any more than its not containing “one that alludes to the Restoration” proves its having been compiled before that period; or than, because some of these 24 songs are not to be found in Pepys’s collection, they are more modern than 1700. If the MS. could be collated, it would probably turn out that many of its contents have been inaccurately and unfaithfully transcribed, by some illiterate persons, from printed copies still extant, and, consequently, that it is, so far, of no authority. See the advertisement prefixed.

[70] Mr. Warton has mistaken and misprinted this line so as to make it absolute nonsense.

“Is not my reason good?

Good—even good—Robin Hood.”

(His. En. po. vol. ii.)

[71] Drayton’s Polyolbion, song 26, p. 122 (supra, p. vii.)

[72] In Churchyard’s “Replication onto Camel’s Objections” he tells the latter:

“Your knowledge is great, your judgement is good,

The most of your study hath ben of Robyn Hood;

And Bevys of Hampton, and syr Launcelot de Lake,

Hath taught you full oft your verses to make.”

[73] See the original story, in which two brothers, of whom one had wished for as many oxen as he saw stars, the other for a pasture as wide as the firmament, kill each other about the pasturage of the oxen (from Camer. oper. subscis. cent. 1, c. 92, p. 429), in Wanley’s Little World of Man, edition of 1774, p. 426. Camerarius, it seems, had the story from Scardeonius de claris civibus Patavinis, whence it is also related in the notes to Upton de studio militari; and an older, of the like kind, is in the Facetiæ of Poggius.

[74] “Derry down is the burden of the old songs of the Druids sung by their Bards and Vaids, to call the people to their religious assemblys in the groves. Doire in Irish (the old Punic) is a grove: corrupted into derry. A famous Druid grove and academy at the place since called Londonderry from thence.”—MS. note by Dr. Stukeley, in his copy of Robin Hood’s Garland. “Paul, Paul, thou art beside thyself!”

[75] Mr. Boyd, the famous preacher in Childsdale, finding that several of his hearers went away after the forenoon sermon, had this expression in his afternoon prayers: “Now, Lord, thou seest that many people go away from hearing thy Word; but had we told them stories of Robin Hood or Davie Lindsay, they had stayed; and yet none of these are near so good as thy Word that I preach” (Scotch Presbyterian Eloquence, 1714, p. 156).

[76] The Bishop grows scurrilous. “I never heard,” says Coke, attorney-general, “that Robin Hood was a traitor, they say he was an outlaw.” (State Trials, i. 218.—Raleigh had said, “Is it not strange for me to make myself a Robin Hood, a Kett, or a Cade?”)

[77] This ballad seems to have been written in imitation of a song in Heywood’s Rape of Lucrece, 1630, beginning—

“The gentry to the King’s-head,

The nobles to the crown,” &c.

[78] In Arnold’s Essex Harmony (ii. 98) he gives the inscription, as a catch for three voices, of his own composition, thus:

“My beer is stout, my ale is good,

Pray stay and drink with Robin Hood;

If Robin Hood abroad is gone,

Pray stay and drink with Little John.”

[79] This description is finely illustrated by an excellent woodcut at the head of one of Anthony a Wood’s old ballads in the Ashmoleian Museum. The frontispiece to Gervas Markham’s Archerie, 1634, is likewise a man drawing a bow.

[80] See “The auncient order societie and unitie laudable of prince Arthure and his knightly armory of the round table . . . Translated and collected by R. R. London, Imprinted by John Wolfe dwelling in Distaffe-lane neere the signe of the Castle, 1583.” 4to, b. l. It appears from this publication that on the revival of London archery in Queen Elizabeth’s time, “the worshipfull socyety of archers,” instead of calling themselves after Robin Hood and his companions, took the names of “the magnificent prince Arthure and his knightly traine of the round table.” It is, probably, to one of the annual meetings of this identical society that Master Shallow alludes in the Second Part of King Henry IV. “I remember,” says he, “at Mile-end Green [their usual place of exercise],—I was then Sir Dagonet in Arthur’s shew,” &c. (See also Steevens’s Shakespeare, 1793, ix. 142.) The successors of the above “friendly and frank fellowship” assumed the ridiculous appellations of Duke of Shoreditch, Marquis of Clerkenwell, Earl of Pankridge, &c. See Wood’s Bowman’s Glory, 1682.

[81] Meaning that his sole or chief employment had been in Christmas or May games, Whitsun-ales, and such like idle diversions. See Original Letters, &c., ii. 134.

In an old circular woodcut, preserved on the title of Robin Hood’s Garland, 1670, as well as on that of Adam Bell, &c., printed at Newcastle in 1772, is the apparent representation of a May-game, consisting of the following personages: 1. A bishop. 2. Robin Hood. 3. The potter (or beggar). 4. Little John. 5. Frier Tuck. 6. Maid Marian. Figures 2 and 4 are distinguished by their bows and different size. The frier holds out a cross; and Marian has flowing hair, and wears a sort of coronet. But the execution of the whole is too rude to merit a copy.

At Lord Fitzwilliams’s at Richmond there is, or lately was, a curious painting by Vinckenbooms, representing old Richmond palace, with a group of morris-dancers. It has been badly engraved by Godfrey, who reduced the figures to too small a scale. Mr. Douce has a tracing from the original picture with all the figures distinctly marked. See a poem at the end of Hall’s Downfall of May-games, 1661, 4to.

[82] The precise purpose or meaning of setting up Robin Hood’s bower has not been satisfactorily ascertained. Mr. Hearne, in an attempt to derive the name of “The Chiltern country” (cil

e

n, Saxon) from silex, a flint, has the following words: “Certe Silcestriam, &c. i.e. Certainly Silchester, in Hampshire, signifies nothing but the city of flints (that is, a city composed or built of flint-stones). And what is more, in that very Chiltern country you may frequently see houses built of flints, in erecting which, in ancient times, I suppose that many persons involved themselves deeply in debt, and that, in order to extricate themselves, they took up money at interest of I know not what great men, which so far disturbed their minds that they would become thieves and do many things in no wise agreeable to the English government. Hence, the nobility ordered that large woods in the Chiltern country should in a great measure be cut down, lest they should conceal any considerable body of robbers, who were wont to convert the same into lurking places. It concerns this matter to call to mind that of this sort of robbers was that Robin or Robert Hood, of whom the vulgar dayly sing so many wonderful things. He (being now made an outlaw) before he retired into the north parts, frequently robbing in the Chiltern country, lurked in the thickets thereof on purpose that he should not be taken. Thence it was that to us boys (exhilarating, according to custom, the mind with sports) certain countrymen, with whom we had accidentally some conversation, shewed us that sort of den or retreat (vulgarly called Robin Hood’s bower) in Maydenhead-thicket; which thicket is the same that Leland in his Itinerary called Frith, by which name the Anglo-Saxons themselves spoke of thickets. For although

ið in reality signifies peace, yet since numerous groves with them (as well as before with the Britons) were deemed sacred, it is by no means to be wondered at that a great wood (because manifestly an asylum) should, in the judgment of the Anglo-Saxons, be called by no other name than

ðe

: and that Maydenhead-thicket was esteemed among the greater woods Leland himself is a witness. Rightly therefore did Robin Hood (as

ið-bena) reckon himself to abide there in security” (Chronicon de Dunstaple, p. 387). What he means by all this is, doubtless, sufficiently obscure: the mere name, however, of Robin Hood’s bower seems a very feeble authority for concluding that gallant outlaw to have robbed or skulked in the Chiltern hundreds.

It may seem, perhaps, from a passage in Browne’s Britannia’s Pastorals (Song 4), that Robin Hood’s bower was prepared for the reception of himself and his Marian, as king and queen of May. The lines are these:

“As I have seene the lady of the May

Set in an arbour, on a holy-day,

Built by the May-pole, where the jocund swains,

Dance with the maidens to the bagpipe’s strains.”

[83] See Steevens’s Shakespeare, 1793, x. 186.

[84] Albion’s England, 1602, p. 121. It is part of the “Northerne man’s speech against the friers.” He adds:

“At Baptis-day with ale and cakes bout bonfires neighbours stood,

At Martle masse wa turnd a crabbe, thilke told of Roben Hood,

Till after long time myrke, when blest were windowes, dares and lights,

And pails were fild, and hathes were swept, gainst fairie elves and sprits:

Rock and plow Mondaies gams . . . with saint-feasts and kirk-lights.”

A very learned and ingenious gentleman conceives that the enumeration of characters in the passage quoted in the text belongs solely to the May, and has no relation whatever to the morrise. That the two games, however, though essentially distinct in their origin, got somehow or other blended together appears unquestionable.

“As fit as a morris for May-day” is one of the clown’s similes in All’s well that ends well (act ii. scene 2).

[85] “The word livery was formerly used to signify anything delivered; see the Northumberland Household Book, p. 60. If it ever bore such an acceptation at that time, one might be induced to suppose, from the following entries, that it here meant a badge, or something of that kind:

15 C. of leveres for Robin Hode	0	5	0
For leveres, paper and sateyn	0	0	20
For pynnes and leveres	0	6	5
For 13 C. of leverys	0	4	4
For 24 great lyvereys	0	0	4

We are told that formerly, in the celebration of May-games, the youth divided themselves into two troops, the one in winter livery, the other in the habit of the spring. See Brand’s Popular Antiquities, p. 261.” This quotation is misapplied. Liveries, in the present instance, are pieces of paper or sateyn with some device thereon, which were distributed for money among the spectators. So in a passage which will be shortly quoted from Jack Drum’s Entertainment: “Well said, my boyes, I must have my lord’s livory; what is’t? a May-pole?” See also Stubbs’s Anatomie of Abuses, 1583, sig. M. 2 b, and Skelton’s Don Quixote, part ii. chap. 22.

[86] “Though it varies considerably from that word, this may be a corruption of orpiment, which was much in use for colouring the morris garments.” How orseden can be a corruption of orpiment is not very easy to conceive: it may as well be supposed to mean worsted or buckram. Mr. Steevens thinks that this orseden is the Arse-dine of old Joan Trash, in Jonson’s Bartholomew Fair, and means flame-coloured paint, used to hobby-horses. The four giants for the revived Midsummer shew at Chester, in 1668, were “to be cullered tinsille arsedine” (MSS. Har. 2150, fo. 373, b.)

[87] “The friar’s coat was generally of russet, as it appears by the following extracts . . . .” The coat of this mock frier would, doubtless, be made of the same stuff as that of a real one.

[88] “Marian was the assumed name of the beloved mistress of Robert, Earl of Huntingdon, whilst he was in a state of outlawry, as Robin Hood was his. See Mr. Steevens’s note to a passage in Shakespeare’s Henry IV. This character in the morris-dances was generally represented by a boy. See Strutt’s View of Customs and Manners, vol. iii. p. 150. It appears by one of the extracts, given above, that at Kingston it was performed by a woman, who was paid a shilling each year for her trouble.”

[89] “Mr. Steevens suggests, with great probability, that this word may have the same meaning as howve or houve, used by Chaucer for a head-dress; Maid Marian’s head-dress was always very fine: indeed some persons have derived her name from the Italian word morione, a head-dress.” Mr. Steevens was never less happy than he is in this very probable conjecture. The word howve or houve, in Chaucer, is a mere variation of hood: and Maid Marian’s head-dress must, to be sure, have been “very fine” when made of four yards of broad cloth! A huke is a woman’s gown or habit. (Huke, palla, toga, palium Belgicis feminis usitatum.—Skin.) Skelton mentions it in his Elinour Rumming:

“Her huke of Lyncole grene.”

“All women in generall,” says Moryson, speaking of the Netherlands, “when they goe out of the house, put on a hoyke or vaile, which covers their heads, and hangs downe vpon their backs to their legges,” &c. (Itinerary, 1617, part 3, p. 169).

Sir John Cullum seems to have mistaken Rose Sparkes’ “best hook” for a “hook worn at the bottom of the stays, to regulate the sitting of the apron” (History of Hawsted, p. 25). Morione, in Italian, signifies a murrion or scull-cap; and though the derivation alluded to appears to have the sanction of Blount’s Glosographia, nothing can be more completely absurd. Marian is Mary.

“And Marian’s nose looks rede and raw.”

[90] “It appears that this, as well as other games, was made a parish concern.”

[91] “Probably gilt leather, the pliability of which was particularly accommodated to the motion of the dancers.”

[92] “A sort of coarse linen.”

[93] “Probably a Moor’s coat; the word Morion is sometimes used to express a Moor.—The morris dance is by some supposed to have been originally derived from Moorish-dance. Black buckram appears to have been much used for the dresses of the ancient mummers. One of the figures in Mr. Tollet’s window is supposed to be a morisco.”

[94] “Disard is an old word for a fool.”

[95] In Ben Jonson’s Masque of the Metamorphosed Gipsies, presented to King James in 1621 (the very date, by the way, which appears on Mr. Tollet’s window), we have the following dialogue between Cockret and Clod:

“Coc. Oh the lord! what be these? . . .

Clo. They should be morris-dancers by their gingle, but they have no napkins.

Coc. No, nor a hobby-horse.

Clo. Oh, he’s often forgotten, that’s no rule; but there is no maid Marian nor friar amongst them, which is the surer mark.

Coc. Nor a fool that I see.”—(Tollet’s Memoir.)

[96] Neither is any notice taken of them, where the characters of the morris-dance are mentioned, in The Two Noble Kinsmen, by Shakespeare and Fletcher.

[97] This was a usual cry on occasions of mirth and jollity. Thus, in the celebration of St. Stephen’s day in the Inner-Temple hall, as we find it described in Dugdale’s Origines Juridiciales: “Supper ended, the constable-marshall ‘presenteth’ himself with drums afore him, mounted upon a scaffold, born by four men; and goeth three times round about the harthe, crying out aloud, A lord, a lord, &c. Then he descendeth and goeth to dance,” &c. (p. 156).

[98]

“’Tis meet we all go forth,

To view the sick and feeble parts of France:

And let us do it with no show of fear;

No, with no more, that if we heard that England

Were busied with a Whitsun morris-dance.”

Shak. K. Hen. V., act ii. scene 4.

[99] Perhaps also, Robin Hood and his party had never appeared in company with the morris-dancers but at one particular period, in the beginning of May, whereas we find that Whitsuntide was no less devoted to the latter.

[100] It must be confessed that no other direct authority has been met with for constituting Robin Hood and Little John integral characters of the morris-dance. That Maid Marian, however, and the Frier, were almost constantly such, is proved beyond the possibility of a doubt; and why or how they should become so, without Robin Hood, at least, is unaccountable.

[101] This county would seem to have been famous for their exertions a couple of centuries ago. Will Kemp the player was a celebrated morris-dancer; and in the Bodleian Library is the following scarce and curious tract by him: “Kemp’s nine daies wonder performed in a daunce from London to Norwich. Containing the pleasure, paines and kind entertainment of William Kemp between London and that city in his late morrice. Wherein is somewhat set downe worth note; to reproove the slaunders spred of him, many things merry, nothing hurtfull. Written by himself to satisfie his friends. London, printed by E. A. for Nicholas Ling, 1600” 4to, b. l. On the title-page is a woodcut figure of Kemp as a morrice-dancer, preceded by a fellow with a pipe and drum, whom he, in the book, calls Thomas Slye his taberer.—See, in Richard Brathwayte’s Remains after Death, 1618, some lines “upon Kempe and his morice, with his epitaph.”

[102] “On Monday [July 30] the morris-dancers of Pendleton paid their annual visit in Salford. They were adorned with all the variety of colours that a profusion of ribbons could give them, and had a very showy garland.”—Star, Aug. 9, 1792.

[103] “Council Register, v. 1, p. 30.”

[104] “Mary, parliament 6, c. 61, A.D. 1555.” “Anentis Robert Hude, and abbot of Unreason. Item, It is statute and ordained, that in all times cumming, na maner of person be chosen Robert Hude, nor Little John, abbot of unreason, queenis of Maij, nor utherwise, nouther in burgh, nor to landwart, in onie time to cum: and gif ony provest, baillies, councell, and communitie, chuse sik ane personage as Robert Hude, Little John, abbotis of unreason, or queenis of Maij, within burgh, the chusers of sik sall tine their freedome for the space of five zeires; and utherwise salbe punished at the queenis grace will; and the acceptar of sik like office sall be banished foorth of the realme; and gif ony sik persones . . . . beis chosen out-with burgh, and uthers landward townes, the chusers sall pay to our soveraine ladie ten poundes, and their persones [be] put in waird there to remaine during the queenis grace pleasure.” Abbot of unreason is the character better known in England by the title of abbot or lord of misrule, “who,” says Percy, “in the houses of our nobility presided over the Christmas gambols, and promoted mirth and jollity at that festive season” (Northumberland Household Book, notes, p. 441).

[105] “Council Register, v. 4, p. 4, 30.”

[106] “Knox’s History, p. 270.”

[107] “Book of Universal Kirk, p. 414.” See also Keith’s History of Scotland, p. 216.

[108] History of Whitby, York, 1779, p. 146. “It was always believed,” adds the worthy pedagogue, “that these butts had been erected by him for that very purpose, till the year 1771, when this popular notion was discovered to be a mistake; they being no more than the barrows or tumuli thrown up by our pagan predecessors on interring their leaders or the other persons of distinction amongst them. However, notwithstanding this discovery, there is no doubt but Robin Hood made use of those houes or butts when he was disposed to exercise his men, and wanted to train them up in hitting a mark.” Be that as it may, there are a few hillocks of a similar nature not far from Guisbrough, which likewise bear the name of Robin Hood’s butts; and others, it is imagined, may be met with in other parts.

[109] Epigram on Robin Hood’s well, “a fine spring on the road, ornamented by Sir John Vanbrugh;” by Roger Gale, Esq. (Bib. Topo. Britan. No. II. part iii. p. 427).

“Nympha fui quondam latronibus hospita sylvæ

Heu nimium sociis nota, Robine, tuis.

Me pudet innocuos latices fudisse scelestis,

Jamque viatori pocula tuta fero,

En pietatis honos! Comes hanc mihi Carliolensis

Ædem sacravit quâ bibis, hospes, aquas.”

The same author (Gent), in his “long and pathetick prologue,” setting forth “the contingencies, vicissitudes or changes of this transitory life,” “spoken, for the most part, on Wednesday and Friday the 18th and 20th of February 1761, at the deep tragedy of beautiful, eloquent, tender-hearted, but unfortunate Jane Shore, . . . . uttered and performed at his benefit” . . . (being then ætatis 70, and far declined into the vale of sorrow,*) has very artfully contrived to introduce our hero and his famous well.

“The concave hall, ’mongst sources never view’d,

Nor heard the goddesses, in merry mood,

At their choice viands sing bold Robin Hood:†

Whose tomb at Kirkley’s nunnery display’d,

A false, hard-hearted, irreligious maid,

Who bled, and to cold death that earl betray’d.

But fame still lasts, while country folks display

His limpid fountain, and loud-surging bay.”

---

* He died in 1778, aged 87.

†

“Omnes agnovere deam; lætique receptant

Alcæum musæ comitem, ponuntur Iâcchi

Crateres; flaventque scyphis Cerealia vina:

Accedunt vultus hilares; festique lepores,

Et jocus, et risus: dulci testudine Naias

Pulchra modos variat; furtisque insignis et arcu

Hodi latronis, fluvios bene nota per istos,

Ludicra gesta canit: resonant laquearia plausu.”

[110]

“Viventes venæ, spine, catinusque catenæ,

Sunt Robin Hoodi nota trophæa sui.”

[111]

“A well, thorne, dish, hung in an iron chaine,

For monuments of Robin Hood remaine.”

[112] Voyage from England to India, 1773, p. 8. In a subsequent page this great man is employed in a commerce of a more delicate, indeed, but, according to European notions, less honourable nature, which he manages with consummate address.

[113] They likewise seem alluded to in the Vision, fo. 1, b:

“And ryse wyth ribaudy as Rebertes knaves.”

[114] “On a loose paper, in Mr. Ashmole’s handwriting, in the museum at Oxford, is the following little anecdote:—

“The famous Little John (Robin Hood’s companion) lyes buried in Fethersedge churchyard, in the peak of Derbyshire, one stone at his head, another at his feet, and part of his bow hangs up in the chancell. Anno 1652.” H. E[llis]. European Magazine, October 1794, p. 295.

[115] This seems the established size of an ancient hero. The grave of Gawin, King Arthur’s nephew, discovered in the time of William the Conqueror, was, according to Malmesbury, “quatuor decim pedes longum” (De gestis regum, l. 3). Bois, from the above circumstance, conceives our “Litil Jhon” to have been so called “per ironiam.” See his original work, fo. ix.

[116] Historie of Scotland, translatit be Maister Johne Bellenden, Edin. 1541, fo. The luxury of his countrymen will appear a strange complaint in the mouth of a Scotishman of the 16th century, to such as believe, with the late Dr. Johnson, that they learned to plant kail from Cromwell’s soldiers, and that “when they had not kail they probably had nothing” (Journey to the Western Islands, p. 55).

[117] Description of Ireland, in Holinshed’s Chronicle, 1587.

[118] Historical Essay, &c., p. 129. This allegation demands what the lawyers call a profert in curiam. It is, however, certain that there have been persons who usurped the name of Little John. In the year 1502, “about mydsomer, was taken a felow whyche had renued many of Robyn Hodes pagentes, which named himselfe Grenelef” (Fabyan’s Chronicle, 1559). Therefore, beware of counterfeits!

ROBIN HOOD.

Part I.

ROBIN HOOD. Part I.

I. A LYTELL GESTE OF ROBYN HODE.

This ancient legend is printed from the copy of an edition, in 4to and black letter, by Wynken de Worde, preserved in the public library at Cambridge; compared with, and, in some places, corrected by, another impression (apparently from the former), likewise in 4to and black letter, by William Copland, a copy of which is among the late Mr. Garrick’s old plays, now in the British Museum. The full title of the first edition is as follows: “Here beginneth a mery geste of Robyn Hode and his meyne, {2} and of the proude sheryfe of Notyngham;” and the printer’s colophon runs thus: “Explycit. Kynge Edwarde and Robyn hode and Lytell Johan Enprented at London in Flete strete at the sygne of the sone By Wynken de Worde.” To Copland’s edition is added “a newe playe for to be played in Maye games very plesaunte and full of pastyme;” which will be found at large in another place. No other copy of either edition is known to be extant; but, by the favour of the Reverend Dr. Farmer, the editor had in his hands and gave to Mr. Douce a few leaves of an old 4to black letter impression by the above Wynken de Worde, probably in 1489, and totally unknown to Ames and Herbert. Another edition was printed at Edinburgh by Androw Myllar and Walter Chepman in 1508, a fragment whereof is in the Advocates’ Library there. This is probably the edition noticed among the tales enumerated in Wedderburn’s Complainte of Scotland, printed at St. Andrews in 1549, under the title of “Robene Hude and litil Jhone.” Among the Doctor’s numerous literary curiosities was likewise another edition, “printed,” after Copland’s, “for Edward White” (4to, black letter, no date, but entered in the Stationers’ books 13 May 1594), which hath been collated, and every variation worthy of notice either adopted or remarked in the margin. The only deviation from all the copies (except in necessary corrections) is the division of stanzas, the indenting of the lines, the addition of points, the disuse of abbreviations, and the occasional introduction or rejection of a capital letter; liberties, if they may be so called, which have been taken with most of the other poems in this collection.

---

Lithe and lysten, gentylmen,

That be of frebore blode ;

I shall you tell of a good yemàn,

His name was Robyn Hode. {3}

Robyn was a proude outlawe,

Whyles he walked on grounde,

So curteyse an outlawe as he was one

Was never none yfounde.

Robyn stode in Bernysdale,

And lened hym to a tree,

And by hym stode Lytell Johan,

A good yeman was he ;

And also dyde good Scathelock,

And Much the millers sone ;

There was no ynche of his body,

But it was worthe a grome.

Than bespake hym Lytell Johan

All unto Robyn Hode,

Mayster, yf ye wolde dyne betyme,

It wolde do you moch good.

Then bespake good Robyn,

To dyne I have no lust,

Tyll I have some bolde baròn,

Or some unketh gest,

[Or els some byshop or abbot] [119]

That may paye for the best ;

Or some knyght or some squyere

That dwelleth here by west. {4}

A good maner than had Robyn,

In londe where that he were,

Every daye or he woulde dyne

Thre messes wolde he here :

The one in the worshyp of the fader,

The other of the holy goost,

The thyrde was of our dere lady,

That he loved of all other moste.

Robyn loved our dere lady,

For doute of dedely synne ;

Wolde he never do company harme

That only woman was ynne.

Mayster, than sayd Lytell Johan,

And we our borde shall sprede,

Tell us whether we shall gone,

And what lyfe we shall lede ;

Where we shall take, where we shall leve,

Where we shall abide behynde,

Where we shall robbe, where we shall reve,

Where we shall bete and bynde.

Ther of no fors, sayd Robyn,

We shall do well ynough ;

But loke ye do no housbonde harme

That tylleth with his plough ; {5}

No more ye shall no good yemàn,

That walketh by grene wode shawe,

Ne no knyght, ne no squyèr,

That wolde be a good felawe.

These bysshoppes, and thyse archebysshoppes,

Ye shall them bete and bynde ;

The hye sheryfe of Notynghame,

Hym holde in your mynde.

This worde shall be holde, sayd Lytyll Johan,

And this lesson shall we lere ;

It is ferre dayes, god sende us a gest,

That we were at our dynere.

Take thy good bowe in thy hande, said Robyn,

Let Moche wende with the,

And so shall Wyllyam Scathelocke,

And no man abyde with me ;

And walke up to the Sayles,

And so to Watlynge-strete,[120]

And wayte after some unketh gest,

Up-chaunce ye mowe them mete. {6}

Be he erle or ony baròn,

Abbot or ony knyght,

Brynge hym to lodge to me,

Hys dyner shall be dyght.

They wente unto the Sayles,

These yemen all thre,

They loked est, they loked west,

They myght no man see.

But as they loked in Barnysdale,

By a derne strete,

Then came there a knyght rydynge,

Full sone they gan hym mete.

All dreri then was his[121] semblaunte,

And lytell was hys pryde,

Hys one fote in the sterope stode,

That other waved besyde.

Hys hode hangynge over hys eyen two,

He rode in symple aray ;

A soryer man than he was one

Rode never in somers-day.

Lytell Johan was curteyse,

And set hym on his kne :

Welcome be ye, gentyll knyght,

Welcome are you to me.

COURTESY OF LITTLE JOHN.

COURTESY OF LITTLE JOHN.

{7}

Welcome be thou to grene wood,

Hende knyght and fre ;

My mayster hath abyden you fastynge,

Syr, all these oures thre.

Who is your mayster ? sayd the knyght.

Johan saydé, Robyn Hode.

He is a good yeman, sayd the knyght,

Of hym I have herde moch good.

I graunte, he sayd, with you to wende,

My brethren all in-fere ; [122]

My purpose was to have deyned to day

At Blythe or Dankastere.

Forthe than went this[123] gentyll knyght,

With a carefull chere,

The teres out of his eyen ran,

And fell downe by his lere.[124]

They brought hym unto the lodge dore,

When Robyn gan hym se,

Full curteysly dyde of his hode,

And set hym on his kne.

Welcome, syr knyght, then said Robyn,

Welcome thou arte to me,

I haue abyde you fastynge, syr,

All these houres thre.

Then answered the gentyll knyght,

With wordes fayre and fre,

God the save, good Robyn,

And all thy fayre meynè.

They washed togyder and wyped bothe,

And set tyll theyr dynere ;

Brede and wyne they had ynough,

And nombles of the dere ;

Swannes and fesauntes they had full good,

And foules of the revere ;

There fayled never so lytell a byrde,

That ever was bred on brere.

Do gladly, syr knyght, sayd Robyn.

Gramercy, syr, sayd he,

Suche a dyner had I not

Of all these wekes thre ;

If I come agayne, Robyn,

Here by this countrè,

As good a dyner I shall the make,

As thou hast made to me.

Gramercy, knyght, sayd Robyn,

My dyner whan I have,

I was never so gredy, by dere worthy god,

My dyner for to crave. {9}

But pay or ye wende, sayd Robyn,

Me thynketh it is good ryght ;

It was never the maner, by dere worthy god,

A yeman to pay[125] for a knyght.

I have nought in my cofers, sayd the knyght,

That I may profer for shame.

Lytell Johan, go loke, sayd Robyn,[126]

Ne let not for no blame.

Tell me trouth, sayd Robyn,

So god hath parte of the.

I have no more but ten shillings, sayd the knyght,

So god hath parte of me.

Yf thou have no more, sayd Robyn,

I wyll not one peny ;

And yf thou have nede of ony more,

More shall I len the.

Go now forth, Lytell Johan,

The trouthe tell thou me,

Yf there be no more but ten shillings,

Not one peny that I se.

Lytell Johan spred downe his mantèll

Full fayre upon the grounde,

And there he founde in the knyghtes cofer

But even halfe a pounde. {10}

Lytyll Johan let it lye full styll,

And went to his mayster full lowe.

What tydynge Johan ? sayd Robyn.

“Syr, the knyght is trewe inough.”

Fyll of the best wyne, sayd Robyn,

The knyght shall begynne ;

Moch wonder thynketh me

Thy clothynge is so thynne.

Tell me one worde, sayd Robyn,

And counsell shall it be ;

I trowe thou were made a knyght of forse,

Or elles of yemanry ;

Or elles thou hast ben a sory housband,

And leved in stroke and stryfe ;

An okerer, or elles a lechoure, sayd Robyn,

With wronge hast thou lede thy lyfe.

I am none of them, sayd the knyght,

By god that made me ;

An hondreth wynter here before,

Myne aunsetters knyghtes have be.

But ofte it hath befal, Robyn,

A man hath be dysgrate ;

But god that syteth in heven above

May amend his state. {11}

Within two or thre yere,[127] Robyn, he sayd,

My neyghbores well it ‘kende,’ [128]

Foure hondreth pounde of good money

Full wel than myght I spende.

Now have I no good, sayd the knyght,

But my chyldren and my wyfe ;

God hath shapen such an ende,

Tyll god ‘may amende[129] my lyfe.’

In what maner, sayd Robyn,

Hast thou lore thy rychès ?

For my grete foly, he sayd,

And for my kindenesse.

I had a sone, for soth, Robyn,

That sholde have ben my eyre,

When he was twenty wynter olde,

In felde wolde juste full feyre ;

He slewe a knyght of Lancastshyre,[130]

And a squyre bolde ;

For to save hym in his ryght

My goodes beth sette and solde ;

My londes beth set to wedde, Robyn,

Untyll a certayne daye,

To a ryche abbot here besyde,

Of Saynt Mary abbay. {12}

What is the somme ? sayd Robyn,

Trouthe than tell thou me.

Syr, he sayd, foure hondred pounde,

The abbot tolde it to me.

Now, and thou lese thy londe, sayd Robyn,

What shall fall of the ?

Hastely I wyll me buske, sayd the knyght,

Over the salte see,

And se where Cryst was quycke and deed,

On the mounte of Caluarè.

Fare well, frende, and have good daye,

It may noo[131] better be

Teeres fell out of his eyen two,

He wolde haue gone his waye—

Farewell, frendes, and have good day,

I ne have more to pay.

Where be[132] thy friendes ? sayd Robyn.

“Syr, never one wyll me know ; [133]

Whyle I was ryche inow at home

Grete bost then wolde they blowe,

And now they renne awaye fro me,

As bestes on a rowe ;

They take no more heed of me

Then they me never sawe.” [134] {13}

For ruthe then wepte Lytell Johan,

Scathelocke and Much ‘in fere.’ [135]

Fyll of the best wyne,[136] sayd Robyn,

For here is a symple chere.

Hast thou ony frendes, sayd Robyn,

Thy borowes that wyll be ?

I have none, then sayd the knyght,

But god that dyed on a tree.

Do waye thy japes, sayd Robyn,

Therof wyll I right none ;

Wenest thou I wyll have god to borowe ?

Peter, Poule or Johan ?

Nay, by hym that me made,

And shope both sonne and mone,

Fynde a better borowe, sayd Robyn,

Or mony getest thou none.

I have none other, sayd the knyght,

The sothe for to say,

But yf it be our dere lady,

She fayled me never or this day.

By dere worthy god, sayd Robyn,

To seche all Englond thorowe,

Yet founde I never to my pay,

A moch better borowe. {14}

Come now forthe, Lytell Johan,

And goo to my tresourè,

And brynge me foure hondred pounde,

And loke that it well tolde be.

Forthe then wente Lytell Johan,

And Scathelocke went before,

He tolde out foure houndred pounde,

By eyghtene score.[137]

Is this well tolde ? sayd lytell Much.

Johan sayd, What greveth the ?

It is almes to helpe a gentyll knyght

That is fall in povertè.

Mayster, than sayd Lytell Johan,

His clothynge is full thynne,

Ye must gyve the knyght a lyveray,

To ‘lappe’ [138] his body ther in.

For ye have scarlet and grene, mayster,

And many a ryche aray,

There is no marchaunt in mery Englònde

So ryche, I dare well saye.

Take hym thre yerdes of every coloure,

And loke that well mete it be.

Lytell Johan toke none other mesure

But his bowe tre,

LITTLE JOHN AND THE KNIGHT.

LITTLE JOHN AND THE KNIGHT.

{15}

And of every handfull that he met

He lept ouer fotes thre.

What devilkyns draper, sayd litell Much,

Thynkyst thou to be ?

Scathelocke stoode full styll and lough,

And sayd, By god allmyght,

Johan may gyve hym the better mesure,

By god, it cost him but lyght.

Mayster, sayd Lytell Johan,

All unto Robyn Hode,

Ye must gyve that knight an hors,

To lede home al this good.

Take hym a gray courser, sayd Robyn,

And a sadell newe ;

He is our ladyes messengere,

God lene[139] that he be true.

And a good palfraye, sayd lytell Moch,

To mayntayne hym in his ryght.

And a payre of botes, sayd Scathelocke,

For he is a gentyll knyght.

What shalt thou gyve hym, Lytel Johan ? sayd Robyn.

Syr, a payre of gylte spores clene,

To pray for all this company :

God brynge hym out of tene ! {16}

Whan shall my daye be, sayd the knyght,

Syr, and your wyll be ?

This daye twelve moneth, sayd Robyn,

Under this grene wode tre.

It were grete shame, sayd Robyn,

A knyght alone to ryde,

Without squyer, yeman or page,

To walke by hys syde.

I shall the lene Lytyll Johan my man,

For he shall be thy knave ;

In a yemans steed he may the stonde,

Yf thou grete nede have.

THE SECONDE FYTTE.

Nowe is the knyght went on this way,

This game he thought full good,

When he loked on Bernysdale,

He blyssed Robyn Hode ;

And whan he thought on Bernysdale,

On Scathelock, Much, and Johan,

He blyssed them for the best company

That ever he in come. {17}

Then spake that gentyll knyght,

To Lytel Johan gan he saye,

To morowe I must to Yorke toune,

To Saynt Mary abbay ;

And to the abbot of that place

Foure hondred pounde I must pay :

And but I be there upon this nyght

My londe is lost for ay.

The abbot sayd to his covent,

There he stode on grounde,

This day twelfe moneth came there a knyght

And borowed foure hondred pounde.

[He borowed foure hondred pounde,]

Upon all his londe fre,

But he come this ylke day

Dysherytye shall he be.

It is full erely, sayd the pryoure,[140]

The day is not yet ferre gone,

I had lever to pay an hondred pounde,

And lay it downe a none.

The knyght is ferre be yonde the see,

In Englonde is his ryght,

And suffreth honger and colde

And many a sory nyght ; {18}

It were grete pytè, sayd the pryoure,

So to have his londe,

And ye be so lyght of your conseyence

Ye do to him moch wronge.

Thou arte euer in my berde, sayd the abbot,

By god and saynt Rycharde.[141]

With that cam in a fat-heded monke,

The heygh selerer ;

He is dede or hanged, sayd the monke,

By god that bought me dere,

And we shall have to spende in this place

Foure hondred pounde by yere.

The abbot and the hy selerer,

Sterte forthe full bolde,

The high justyce of Englonde

The abbot there dyde holde. {19}

The hye justyce and many mo

Had take into their honde

Holy all the knyghtes det,

To put that knyght to wronge.

They demed the knyght wonder sore,

The abbot and hys meynè :

“But he come this ylke day

Dysheryte shall he be.”

He wyll not come yet, sayd the justyce,

I dare well undertake.

But in sorowe tyme for them all

The knyght came to the gate.

Than bespake that gentyll knyght

Untyll hys meynè,

Now put on your symple wedes

That ye brought fro the see.

[They put on their symple wedes,]

And came to the gates anone,

The porter was redy hymselfe,

And welcomed them everychone.

Welcome, syr knyght, sayd the portèr,

My lorde to mete is he,

And so is many a gentyll man,

For the love of the. {20}

The porter swore a full grete othe,

By god that made me,

Here be the best coresed hors

That ever yet sawe I me.

Lede them into the stable, he sayd,

That eased myght they be.

They shall not come therin, sayd the knyght,

By god that dyed on a tre.

Lordes were to mete isette

In that abbotes hall,

The knyght went forth and kneled downe,

And salved them grete and small.

Do gladly, syr abbot, sayd the knyght,

I am come to holde my day.

The fyrst word the abbot spake,

Hast thou brought my pay ?

Not one peny, sayd the knyght,

By god that maked me.

Thou art a shrewed dettour, sayd the abbot :

Syr justyce, drynke to me.

What doost thou here, sayd the abbot,

But thou haddest brought thy pay ?

For god, than sayd the knyght,

To pray of a lenger daye. {21}

Thy daye is broke, sayd the justyce,

Londe getest thou none.

“Now, good syr justyce, be my frende,

And fende me of my fone.”

I am holde with the abbot, sayd the justyce,

Bothe with cloth and fee.

“Now, good syr sheryf, be my frende.”

Nay for god, sayd he.

“Now, good syr abbot, be my frende,

For thy curteysè,

And holde my londes in thy honde

Tyll I have made the gree ;

And I wyll be thy true servaunte,

And trewely serve the,

Tyl ye have foure hondred pounde

Of money good and free.”

The abbot sware a full grete othe,

By god that dyed on a tree,

Get the londe where thou may,

For thou getest none of me.

By dere worthy god, then sayd the knyght,

That all this worlde wrought,

But I have my londe agayne

Full dere it shall be bought ; {22}

God, that was of a mayden borne

Lene us[142] well to spede !

For it is good to assay a frende

Or that a man have nede.

The abbot lothely on hym gan loke

And vylaynesly hym gan ‘call ;’ [143]

Out, he sayd, thou false knyght,

Spede the out of my hall !

Thou lyest, then sayd the gentyll knyght,

Abbot in thy hal ;

False knyght was I never,

By god that made us all.

Up then stode that gentyll knyght,

To the abbot sayd he,

To suffre a knyght to knele so longe,

Thou canst no curteysye ;

In joustes and in tournement

Full ferre than have I be,

And put myselfe as ferre in prees

As ony that ever I se.

What wyll ye gyve more ? sayd the justyce,

And the knyght shall make a releyse ;

And elles dare I safly swere

Ye holde never your londe in pees. {23}

An hondred pounde, sayd the abbot.

The justyce said, Gyve him two.

Nay, be god, sayd the knyght,

Yet gete[144] ye it not soo :

Though ye wolde gyve a thousande more,

Yet were ‘ye’ [145] never the nere :

Shall there never be myn eyre,

Abbot, justyse, ne frere.

He sterte hym to a borde anone,

Tyll a table rounde,

And there he shoke out of a bagge

Even foure hondred pounde.

Have here thy golde, syr abbot, sayd the knyght,

Which that thou lentest me ;

Haddest thou ben curteys at my comynge,

Rewarde sholdest thou have be.

The abbot sat styll, and ete no more,

For all his ryall chere,

He caste his hede on his sholdèr,

And fast began to stare.

Take me my golde agayne, sayd the abbot,

Syr justyce, that I toke the.

Not a peny, sayd the justyce,

By god, that dyed on a tree. {24}

“Syr abbot, and ye men of lawe,

Now have I holde my daye,

Now shall I have my londe agayne,

For ought that you can saye.”

The knyght stert out of the dore,

Awaye was all his care,

And on he put his good clothynge,

The other he lefte there.

He wente hym forthe full mery syngynge,

As men have tolde in tale,

His lady met hym at the gate,

At home in ‘Wierysdale.’ [146]

Welcome, my lorde, sayd his lady ;

Syr, lost is all your good ?

Be mery, dame, sayd the knyght,

And praye for Robyn Hode,

That ever his soule be in blysse,

He holpe me out of my tene ;

Ne had not be his kyndenesse,

Beggers had we ben.

The abbot and I acordyd ben,

He is served of his pay,

The good yeman lent it me,

As I came by the way. {25}

This knyght than dwelled fayre at home,

The soth for to say,

Tyll he had got foure hondreth pounde

All redy for too paye.

He purveyed hym an hondred bowes,

The strenges [were] welle dyght,

An hondred shefe of arowes good,

The hedes burnyshed full bryght,

And every arowe an elle longe,

With pecocke well ydyght,

Inocked all with whyte sylvèr,

It was a semly syght.

He purveyed hym an hondreth men,

Well harneysed in that stede,

And hymselfe in that same sete,[147]

And clothed in whyte and rede.

He bare a launsgay in his honde,

And a man ledde his male,

And reden with a lyght songe,

Unto Bernysdale.

As he went at a brydge ther was a wrastelyng,

And there taryed was he,

And there was all the best yemèn,

Of all the west countree. {26}

A full fayre game there was upset,

A whyte bull up ipyght ; [148]

A grete courser with sadle and brydil,

With golde burneyshed full bryght ;

A payre of gloves, a rede golde rynge,

A pype of wyne, in good fay :

What man bereth him best, I wys,

The pryce shall bere away.

There was a yeman in that place,

And best worthy was he,

And for he was ferre and frend bestad,

Islayne he sholde have be.

The knyght had reuth of this yemàn,

In place where that he stode,

He said that yoman sholde have no harme,

For love of Robyn Hode.

The knyght presed into the place,

An hondred folowed hym ‘fre,’ [149]

With bowes bent, and arowes sharpe,

For to shende that company.

They sholdred all, and made hym rome,

To wete that he wolde say,

He toke the yeman by the honde,

And gave hym all the playe ; {27}

He gave hym fyve marke for his wyne,

There it laye on the molde,

And bad it sholde be sette a broche,

Drynke who so wolde.

Thus longe taryed this gentyll knyght,

Tyll that playe was done,

So longe abode Robyn fastynge,

Thre houres after the none.

THE THYRDE FYTTE.

Lyth and lysten, gentyll men,

All that now be here,

Of Lytell Johan, that was the knyghtes man,

Good myrthe ye shall here.

It was upon a mery day,

That yonge men wolde go shete,[150]

Lytell Johan fet his bowe anone,

And sayd he wolde them mete.

Thre tymes Lytell Johan shot about,

And alway cleft[151] the wande,

The proude sheryf of Notyngham

By the markes gan stande. {28}

The sheryf swore a full grete othe,

By hym that dyed on a tree,

This man is the best archere

That yet sawe I me.

Say me now, wyght yonge man,

What is now thy name ?

In what countre were thou[152] born,

And where is thy wonnynge wan ?

“In Holdernesse I was bore,

I wys all of my dame,

Men call me Reynolde Grenelefe,

Whan I am at hame.”

“Say me, Reynaud Grenelefe,

Wolte thou dwell with me ?

And every yere I wyll the gyve

Twenty marke to thy fee.”

I have a mayster, sayd Lytell Johan,

A curteys knyght is he,

May ye gete leve of hym,

The better may it bee.

The sheryfe gate Lytell Johan

Twelve monethes of the knyght,

Therfore he gave him ryght anone

A good hors and a wyght. {29}

Now is Lytel Johan the sheryffes man,

He gyve us well to spede,

But alway thought Lytell Johan

To quyte hym well his mede.

Now so god [153] me helpe, sayd Lytel Johan,

And be my trewe lewtè,

I shall be the worste servaunte to hym

That ever yet had he.

It befell upon a wednesday,

The sheryfe on hontynge was gone,

And Lytel Johan lay in his bed,

And was foryete at home.

Therfore he was fastynge

Tyl it was past the none,

Good syr stuard, I pray the,

Geve me to dyne, sayd Lytel Johan,

It is to long for Grenelefe,

Fastynge so long to be ;

Therfore I pray the, stuarde,

My dyner gyve thou me.

Shaly thou never ete ne drynke, sayd the stuarde,

Tyll my lord be come to towne.

I make myn avowe to god, sayd Lytell Johan,

I had lever to cracke thy crowne. {30}

The butler was ful uncurteys,

There he stode on flore,

He sterte to the buttery,

And shet fast the dore.

Lytell Johan gave the buteler such a rap,

His backe yede nygh on two,

Tho he lyved an hundreth wynter,

The wors he sholde go.

He sporned the dore with his fote,

It went up wel and fyne,

And there he made a large lyveray

Both of ale and wyne.

Syth ye wyl not dyne, sayd Lytel Johan,

I shall gyve you to drynke,

And though ye lyve an hondred wynter,

On Lytell Johan ye shall thynk.

Lytell Johan ete, and Lytell [Johan] dronke,

The whyle that he wolde.

The sheryfe had in his kechyn a coke,

A stoute man and a bolde.

I make myn avowe to god, sayd the coke,

Thou arte a shrewde hynde,

In an housholde to dwel,

For to ask thus to dyne. {31}

And there he lent Lytel Johan,

Good strokes thre.

I make myn avowe, sayd Lytell Johan,

These strokes lyketh well me.

Thou arte a bolde man and an hardy,

And so thynketh me ;

And or I passe fro this place,

Asayed better shalt thou be.

Lytell Johan drewe a good swerde,

The coke toke another in honde ;

They thought nothynge for to fle,

But styfly for to stonde.

There they fought sore togyder,

Two myle way and more,[154]

Myght neyther other harme done,

The mountenaunce of an houre.

I make myn avowe to god, sayd Lytell Johan,

And be my trewe lewtè,

Thou art one of the best swerdemen,

That ever yet sawe I me.

Coowdest thou shote as well in a bowe,

To grene wood thou sholdest with me,

And two tymes in the yere thy clothynge

Ichaunged sholde be ; {32}

And every yere of Robyn Hode

Twenty marke to thy fee.

Put up thy swerde, sayd the coke,

And felowes wyll we be.

Then he fette to Lytell Johan

The numbles of a doo,

Good brede and full good wyne,

They ete and dranke therto.

And whan they had dronken well,

Ther trouthes togyder they plyght,

That they wolde be with Robyn

That ylke same day at nyght.

The dyde[155] them to the tresure hous,

As fast as they myght gone,

The lockes that were of good stele

They brake them everychone ;

They toke away the sylver vessell,

And all that they myght get,

Peces, masars, and spones,

Wolde they non forgete ;

Also they toke the good pence,

Thre hondred pounde and three ;

And dyde them strayt to Robyn Hode,

Under the grene wode tre. {33}

“God the save, my dere maystèr,

And Cryst the save and se.”

And than sayd Robyn to Lytell Johan,

Welcome myght thou be ;

And also be that fayre yemàn

Thou bryngest there with the.

What tydynges fro Notyngham ?

Lytell Johan, tell thou me.

“Well the greteth the proude sheryfe,

And sende the here by me

His coke and his sylver vessell,

And thre hondred pounde and thre.”

I make myn avow to god, sayd Robyn,

And to the trenytè,

It was never by his good wyll,

This good is come to me.

Lytell Johan hym there bethought,

On a shrewed wyle,[156]

Fyve myle in the forest he ran,

Hym happed at his wyll ;

Than he met the proud sheryf,

Huntynge with hounde and horne,

Lytell Johan coud his curteysye,

And kneled hym beforne : {34}

“God the save, my dere maystèr,

And Cryst the save and see.”

Raynolde Grenelefe, sayd the sheryfe,

Where hast thou nowe be ?

“I have be in this forest,

A fayre syght can I se,

It was one of the fayrest syghtes[157]

That ever yet sawe I me ;

Yonder I se a ryght fayre hart,

His coloure is of grene,

Seven score of dere upon an herde

Be with hym all bedene ;

His tynde are so sharp, maystèr,

Of sexty and well mo,

That I durst not shote for drede

Lest they wolde me sloo.”

I make myn avowe to god, sayd the sheryf,

That syght wolde I fayn se.

“Buske you thyderwarde, my dere maystèr,

Anone, and wende with me.”

The sheryfe rode, and Lytell Johan

Of fote he was full smarte,

And whan they came afore Robyn :

“Lo, here is the mayster harte !” {35}

Styll stode the proude sheryf,

A sory man was he :

“Wo worthe the,[158] Raynolde Grenelefe !

Thou hast now betrayed me.”

I make myn avowe to god, sayd Lytell Johan,

Mayster, ye be to blame,

I was mysserved of my dynere,

When I was with you at hame.

Soone he was to super sette,

And served with sylver whyte ;

And whan the sheryf se his vessell,

For sorowe he myght not ete.

Make good chere, sayd Robyn Hode,

Sheryfe, for charytè,

And for the love of Lytell Johan,

Thy lyfe is graunted to the.

When they had supped well,

The day was all agone,

Robyn commaunded Lytell Johan

To drawe of his hosen and his shone,

His kyrtell and his cote a pye,

That was furred well fyne,

And take him a grene mantèll,

To lappe his body therin. {36}

Robyn commaunded his wyght yong men,

Under the grene wood tre,

They shall lay in that same sorte ;

That the sheryf myght them se.

All nyght laye that proud sheryf,

In his breche and in his sherte,

No wonder it was in grene wode,

Tho his sydes do smerte.

Make glad chere, sayd Robyn Hode,

Sheryfe, for charytè,

For this is our order I wys,

Under the grene wood tre.

This is harder order, sayd the sheryfe,

Than ony anker or frere ;

For al the golde in mery Englonde

I wolde not longe dwell here.

All these twelve monethes, sayd Robyn,

Thou shake dwell with me ;

I shall the teche, proud sheryfe,

An outlawe for to be.

Or I here another nyght lye, sayd the sheryfe,

Robyn, nowe I praye the,

Smyte of my hede rather to-morne,

And I forgyve it the. {37}

Lete me go, then sayd the sheryf,

For saynt Charytè,

And I wyll be thy best frende

That ever yet had the.

Thou shalte swere me an othe, sayd Robyn,

On my bryght bronde,

Thou shalt never awayte me scathe,

By water ne by londe ;

And if thou fynde ony of my men,

By nyght or by day,

Upon thyne othe thou shalt swere,

To helpe them that thou may.

Now have the sheryf iswore his othe,

And home he began to gone,

He was as full of grene wode

As ever was hepe of stone.

THE FOURTH FYTTE.

The sheryf dwelled in Notynghame,

He was fayne that he was gone,

And Robyn and his mery men

Went to wode anone. {38}

Go we to dyner, sayd Lytell Johan.

Robyn Hode sayd, Nay ;

For I drede our lady be wroth with me,

For she sent me not my pay.

Have no dout, mayster, sayd Lytell Johan,

Yet is not the sonne at rest,

For I dare saye, and saufly swere,

The knyght is trewe and trust.

Take thy bowe in thy hande, sayd Robyn,

Let Moch wende with the,

And so shall Wyllyam Scathelock,

And no man abyde with me,

And walke up into the Sayles,

And to Watlynge-strete,

And wayte after ‘some’ [159] unketh gest,

Up-chaunce ye may them mete.

Whether he be messengere,

Or a man that myrthes can,

Or yf he be a pore man,

Of my good he shall have some.

Forth then stert Lytel Johan,

Half in tray and tene,

And gyrde hym with a full good swerde,

Under a mantel of grene. {39}

They went up to the Sayles,

These yemen all thre ;

They loked est, they loked west,

They myght no man se.

But as ‘they’ [160] loked in Bernysdale,

By the hye waye,

Than were they ware of two blacke monkes,

Eche on a good palferay.

Then bespake Lytell Johan,

To Much he gan say,

I dare lay my lyfe to wedde,

That these monkes have brought our pay.

Make glad chere, sayd Lytell Johan,

And frese our bowes of ewe,

And loke your hertes be seker and sad,

Your strynges trusty and trewe.

The monke hath fifty two men,

And seven somers full stronge,

There rydeth no bysshop in this londe

So ryally, I understond.

Brethern, sayd Lytell Johan,

Here are no more but we thre :

But we brynge them to dyner,

Our mayster dare we not se. {40}

Bende your bowes, sayd Lytell Johan,

Make all yon[161] prese to stonde,

The formost monke, his lyfe and his deth

Is closed in my honde.

Abyde, chorle monke, sayd Lytell Johan,

No ferther that thou gone ;

Yf thou doost, by dere worthy god,

Thy death is in my honde.

And evyll thryfte on thy hede, sayd Lytell Johan,

Ryght under thy hattes bonde,

For thou hast made our mayster wroth,

He is fastynge so longe.

Who is your mayster ? sayd the monke.

Lytell Johan sayd, Robyn Hode.

He is a stronge thefe, sayd the monke,

Of hym herd I never good.

Thou lyest, than sayd Lytell Johan,

And that shall rewe the ;

He is a yeman of the forèst,

To dyne he hath bode the.

Much was redy with a bolte,

Redly and a none,

He set[162] the monke to fore the brest,

To the grounde that he can gone. {41}

Of fyfty two wyght yonge men,[163]

There abode not one,

Saf a lytell page, and a grome

To lede the somers with Johan.[164]

They brought the monke to the lodge dore,

Whether he were loth or lefe,

For to speke with Robyn Hode,

Maugre in theyr tethe.

Robyn dyde adowne his hode,

The monke whan that he se ;

The monke was not so curteyse,

His hode then let he be.

He is a chorle, mayster, by dere worthy god,

Than said Lytell Johan.

Thereof no force, sayd Robyn,

For curteysy can he none.

How many men, sayd Robyn,

Had this monke, Johan ?

“Fyfty and two whan that we met,

But many of them be gone.”

Let blowe a horne, sayd Robin,

That felaushyp may us knowe ;

Seven score of wyght yemen,

Came pryckynge on a rowe, {42}

And everych of them a good mantèll

Of scarlet and of raye,

All they came to good Robyn,

To wyte what he wolde say.

They made the monke to wasshe and wype,

And syt at his denere,

Robyn Hode and Lytel Johan

They served ‘him’ [165] bothe in fere.

Do gladly, monke, sayd Robyn.

Gramercy, syr, said he.

“Where is your abbay, whan ye are at home,

And who is your avowè ?”

Saynt Mary abbay, sayd the monke,

Though I be symple here.

In what offyce ? sayd Robyn.

“Syr, the hye selerer.”

Ye be the more welcome, sayd Robyn,

So ever mote I the.

Fyll of the best wyne, sayd Robyn,

This monke shall drynke to me.

But I have grete mervayle, sayd Robyn,

Of all this longe day,

I drede our lady be wroth with me,

She sent me not my pay. {43}

Have no doute, mayster, sayd Lytell Johan,

Ye have no nede I saye,

This monke it hath brought, I dare well swere,

For he is of her abbay.

And she was a borowe, sayd Robyn,

Betwene a knyght and me,

Of a lytell money that I hym lent,

Under the grene wode tree ;

And yf thou hast that sylver ibroughte,

I praye the let me se,

And I shall helpe the eftsones,

Yf thou have nede of [166] me.

The monke swore a full grete othe,

With a sory chere,

Of the borowehode thou spekest to me,

Herde I never ere.

I make myn avowe to god, sayd Robyn,

Monke, thou arte to blame,

For god is holde a ryghtwys man,

And so is his dame.

Thou toldest with thyn owne tonge,

Thou may not say nay,

How thou arte her servaunt,

And servest her every day : {44}

And thou art made[167] her messengere,

My money for to pay,

Therfore I cun the more thanke,

Thou arte come at thy day.

What is in your cofers ? sayd Robyn,

Trewe than tell thou me.

Syr, he sayd, twenty marke,

Al so mote I the.

Yf there be no more, sayd Robyn,

I wyll not one peny ;

Yf thou hast myster of ony more,

Syr, more I shall lende to the ;

And yf I fynde more, sayd Robyn,

I wys thou shalte it forgone ;

For of thy spendynge sylver, monk,

Therof wyll I ryght none.

Go nowe forthe, Lytell Johan,

And the trouth tell thou me ;

If there be no more but twenty marke,

No peny that I se.

Lytell Johan spred his mantell downe,

As he had done before,

And he tolde out of the monkes male,

Eyght hundreth pounde[168] and more. {45}

Lytell Johan let it lye full styll,

And went to his mayster in hast ;

Syr, he sayd, the monke is trewe ynowe,

Our lady hath doubled your cost.

I make myn avowe to god, sayd Robyn,

Monke, what tolde I the ?

Our lady is the trewest womàn,

That ever yet founde I me.

By dere worthy god, sayd Robyn,

To seche all Englond thorowe,

Yet founde I never to my pay

A moche better borowe.

Fyll of the best wyne, do hym drynke, sayd Robyn ;

And grete well thy lady hende,

And yf she have nede of [169] Robyn Hode,

A frende she shall hym fynde ;

And yf she nedeth ony more sylvèr,

Come thou agayne to me,

And, by this token she hath me sent,

She shall have such thre.

The monke was going to London ward,

There to holde grete mote,

The knyght that rode so hye on hors,

To brynge hym under fote. {46}

Whether be ye away ? sayd Robyn.

“Syr, to maners in this londe,

Too reken with our reves,

That have done moch wronge.”

“Come now forth, Lytell Johan,

And harken to my tale,

A better yeman I knowe none

To seke a monkes male.”

How moch is in yonder other ‘cofer ?’ [170] sayd Robyn,

The soth must we see.

By our lady, than sayd the monke,

That were no curteysye,

To bydde a man to dyner,

And syth hym bete and bynde.

It is our olde maner, sayd Robyn,

To leve but lytell behynde.

The monke toke the hors with spore,

No lenger wolde he abyde.

Aske to drynke, than sayd Robyn,

Or that ye forther ryde.

Nay, for god, than sayd the monke,

Me reweth I cam so nere,

For better chepe I myght have dyned,

In Blythe or in Dankestere. {47}

Grete well your abbot, sayd Robyn,

And your pryour, I you pray,

And byd hym send me such a monke,

To dyner every day.

Now lete we that monke be styll,

And speke we of that knyght,

Yet he came to holde his day

Whyle that it was lyght.

He dyde hym streyt to Bernysdale,

Under the grene wode tre,

And he founde there Robyn Hode,

And all his mery meynè.

The knyght lyght downe of his good palfrày,

Robyn whan he gan see,

So curteysly he dyde adoune his hode,

And set hym on his knee.

“God the save, good Robyn Hode,

And al this company.”

“Welcome be thou, gentyll knyght,

And ryght welcome to me.”

Than bespake hym Robyn Hode,

To that knyght so fre,

What nede dryveth the to grene wode ?

I pray the, syr knyght, tell me. {48}

And welcome be thou, gentyl knyght,

Why hast thou be so longe ?

“For the abbot and the hye justyce

Wolde have had my londe.”

Hast thou thy lond agayne ?[171] sayd Robyn,

Treuth than tell thou me.

Ye, for god, sayd the knyght,

And that thanke I god and the.

But take not a grefe, I have be so longe ; [172]

I came by a wrastelynge

And there I dyd holpe a pore yemàn,

With wronge was put behynde.

Nay, for god, sayd Robyn,

Syr knyght, that thanke I the ;

What man that helpeth a good yemàn,

His frende than wyll I be.

Have here foure hondred pounde, than sayd the knyght,

The whiche ye lent to me ;

And here is also twenty marke

For your curteysy.

Nay, for god, than sayd Robyn,

Thou broke it well for ay,

For our lady, by her selerer,

Hath sent to me my pay ;

{49}

And yf I toke it twyse,[173]

A shame it were to me :

But trewely, gentyll knyght,

Welcom arte thou to me.

Whan Robyn had tolde his tale,

He leugh and had good chere.

By my trouthe, then sayd the knyght,

Your money is redy here.

Broke it well, sayd Robyn,

Thou gentyll knyght so fre ;

And welcome be thou, gentill knyght,

Under my trystell [174] tree.

But what shall these bowes do ? sayd Robyn,

And these arowes ifedered fre ?

By god, than sayd the knyght,

A pore present to the.

“Come now forth, Lytell Johan,

And go to my treasurè,

And brynge me there foure hondred pounde,

The monke over-tolde it me.

Have here foure hondred pounde,

Thou gentyll knyght and trewe,

And bye hors and harnes good,

And gylte thy spores all newe : {50}

And yf thou fayle ony spendynge,

Com to Robyn Hode,

And by my trouth thou shalt none fayle

The whyles I have any good.

And broke well thy four hundred pound,

Whiche I lent to the,

And make thy selfe no more so bare,

By the counsell of me.”

Thus than holpe hym good Robyn,

The knyght all of his care.[175]

God, that sytteth[176] in heven hye,

Graunte us well to fare.

THE FYFTH FYTTE.

Now hath the knyght his leve itake,

And wente hym on his way ;

Robyn Hode and his mery men

Dwelled styll full many a day.

Lyth and lysten, gentil men,

And herken what I shall say,

How the proud sheryfe of Notyngham

Dyde crye a full fayre play ; {51}

That all the best archers of the north

Sholde come upon a day,

And ‘he’ that shoteth ‘alder’ best[177]

The game shall bere away.

“He that shoteth ‘alder’ [178] best

Furthest fayre and lowe,

At a payre of fynly buttes,

Under the grene wode shawe,

A ryght good arowe he shall have,

The shaft of sylver whyte,

The heade and the feders of ryche red golde,

In Englond is none lyke.”

This then herde good Robyn,

Under his trystell tre :

“Make you redy, ye wyght yonge men,

That shotynge wyll I se.

Buske you, my mery yonge men,

Ye shall go with me ;

And I wyll wete the shryves fayth,

Trewe and yf he be.”

Whan they had theyr bowes ibent,

Theyr takles fedred fre,

Seven score of wyght yonge men

Stode by Robyns kne. {52}

Whan they cam to Notyngham,

The buttes were fayre and longe,

Many was the bolde archere

That shoted with bowes stronge.

“There shall but syx shote with me,

The other shal kepe my hede,

And stande with good bowes bent

That I be not desceyved.”

The fourth outlawe his bowe gan bende,

And that was Robyn Hode,

And that behelde the proude sheryfe,

All by the but he stode.

Thryes Robyn shot about,

And alway he slist[179] the wand,

And so dyde good Gylberte,

With the whyte hande.

Lytell Johan and good Scatheloke

Were archers good and fre ;

Lytell Much and good Reynolde,

The worste wolde they not be.

Whan they had shot aboute,

These archours fayre and good,

Evermore was the best,

Forsoth, Robyn Hode. {53}

Hym was delyvered the goode aròw,

For best worthy was he ;

He toke the yeft so curteysly,

To grene wode wolde he.

They cryed out on Robyn Hode,

And great hornes gan they blowe.

Wo worth the, treason ! sayd Robyn,

Full evyl thou art to knowe.

And we be thou, thou proud sheryf,

Thus gladdynge thy gest,

Other wyse thou behote me

In yonder wylde forest ;

But had I the in grene wode,

Under my trystell tre,

Thou sholdest leve me a better wedde

Than thy trewe lewtè.

Full many a bowe there was bent,

And arowes let they glyde,

Many a kyrtell there was rent,

And hurt many a syde.

The outlawes shot was so stronge,

That no man myght them dryve,

And the proud sheryfes men

They fled away full blyve.[180] {54}

Robyn sawe the busshement to-broke,

In grene wode he wolde have be,

Many an arowe there was shot

Amonge that company.

Lytell Johan was hurte full sore,

With an arowe in his kne,

That he myght neyther go nor ryde ;

It was full grete pytè.

Mayster, then sayd Lytell Johan,

If ever thou lovest me,

And for that ylke lordes love,

That dyed upon a tre,

And for the medes of my servyce

That I have served the,

Lete never the proude sheryf

Alyve now fynde me ;

But take out thy browne swerde,

And smyte all of my hede,

And gyve me woundes dede and wyde,

No lyfe on me be lefte.[181]

I wolde not that, sayd Robyn,

Johan, that thou were slawe,

For all the golde in mery Englond,

Though it lay now on a rawe {55}

God forbede, sayd lytell Much,

That dyed on a tre,

That thou sholdest, Lytell Johan,

Parte our company.

Up he toke him on his backe,

And bare hym well a myle,

Many a tyme he layd hym downe

And shot another whyle.

Then was there a fayre castèll,

A lytell within the wode,

Double-dyched it was about,

And walled, by the rode ;

And there dwelled that gentyll knyght,

Syr Rychard at the Lee,

That Robyn had lent his good,

Under the grene wode tree.

In he toke good Robyn,

And all his company :

“Welcome be thou, Robyn Hode,

Welcome arte thou [to] me ;

And moche [I] thanke the of thy comfort,

And of thy curteysye,

And of thy grete kyndenesse,

Under the grene wode tre ; {56}

I love no man in all this worlde

So moch as I do the ;

For all the proud sheryf of Notyngham,

Ryght here shalt thou be.

Shyt the gates, and drawe the bridge,

And let no man com in ;

And arme you well, and make you redy,

And to the walle ye wynne.

For one thyng, Robyn, I the behote,

I swere by saynt Quyntyn,

These twelve dayes thou wonest with me,

To suppe, ete, and dyne.”

Bordes were layed, and clothes spred,

Reddely and anone ;

Robyn Hode and his mery men

To mete gan they gone.

THE SYXTE FYTTE.

Lythe and lysten, gentylmen,

And herken unto your songe ;

How the proude sheryfe of Notyngham,

And men of armes stronge, {57}

Full faste came to the hye sheryfe,

The countre up to rout,

And they beset the knyghts castèll,

The walles all about.

The proude sheryf loude gan crye,

And sayd, Thou traytour knyght,

Thou kepeste here the kynges enemye,

Agayne the lawes and ryght.

“Syr, I wyll avowe that I have done,

The dedes that here[182] be dyght,

Upon all the londes that I have,

As I am a trewe knyght.

Wende forthe, syrs, on your waye,

And doth no more to me,

Tyll ye wytte our kynges wyll

What he woll say to the.”

The sheref thus had his answere,

With out ony leasynge,

Forthe he yode to London toune,

All for to tel our kynge.

There he tolde him of that knyght,

And eke of Robyn Hode,

And also of the bolde archeres,

That noble were and good. {58}

“He wolde avowe that he had done,

To mayntayne the outlawes stronge,

He wolde be lorde, and set you at nought,

In all the north londe.”

I woll be at Notyngham, sayd the kynge,

Within this fourtynyght,

And take I wyll Robyn Hode,

And so I wyll that knyght.

Go home, thou proud sheryf,

And do as I bydde the,[183]

And ordayne good archeres inowe,

Of all the wyde countree.

The sheryf had his leve itake,

And went hym on his way :

And Robyn Hode to grene wode [went]

Upon a certayn day ;

And Lytell Johan was hole of the arowe,

That shote was in his kne,

And dyde hym strayte to Robyn Hode,

Under the grene wode tre.

Robyn Hode walked in the foreste,

Under the leves grene,

The proude sheryfe of Notyngham,

Therfore he had grete tene.

ROBIN HOOD AND THE LADY.

ROBIN HOOD AND THE LADY.

{59}

The sheryf there fayled of Robyn Hode,

He myght not have his pray,

Then he awayted that gentyll knyght,

Bothe by nyght and by daye.

Ever he awayted that gentyll knyght,

Syr Rychard at the Lee ;

As he went on haukynge by the ryver syde,

And let his haukes flee,

Toke he there this gentyll knyght,

With men of armes stronge,

And lad hym home to Notyngham warde,

Ibonde both fote and honde.[184]

The sheryf swore a full grete othe,

By hym that dyed on a tre,

He had lever than an hondrede pounde,

That Robyn Hode had he.[185]

Then the lady, the knyghtes wyfe,

A fayre lady and fre,

She set her on a gode palfrày,

To grene wode anon rode she.

When she came to the forèst,

Under the grene wode tre,

Founde she there Robyn Hode,

And all his fayre meynè. {60}

“God the save, good Robyn Hode,[186]

And all thy company ;

For our dere ladyes[187] love,

A bone graunte thou me.

Let[188] thou never my wedded lorde

Shamfully slayne to be ; [189]

He is fast ibounde to Notyngham warde,

For the love of the.”

Anone then sayd good Robyn,

To that lady fre,

What man hath your lorde itake ?

The proude shirife, than sayd she.[190]

[The proude sheryfe hath hym itake]

Forsoth as I the say ;

He is not yet thre myles,

Passed on ‘his’ [191] waye.

Up then sterte good Robyn,

As a man that had be wode :

“Buske you, my mery younge men,

For hym that dyed on a rode ; {61}

And he that this sorowe forsaketh,

By hym that dyed on a tre,

And by him that al thinges maketh,

No lenger shall dwell with me.” [192]

Sone there were good bowes ibent,

Mo than seven score,

Hedge ne dyche spared they none,

That was them before.

I make myn avowe to god, sayd Robyn,

The knyght wolde I fayn se,

And yf I may hym take,

Iquyt than shall he[193] bee.

And whan they came to Notyngham,

They walked in the strete,

And with the proud sheryf, I wys,

Sone gan they mete.

Abyde, thou proud sheryf, he sayd,

Abyde and speake with me,

Of some tydynges of our kynge,

I wolde fayne here of the.

This seven yere, by dere worthy god,

Ne yede I so fast on fote,

I make myn avowe to god, thou proud sheryfe,

‘It’ [194] is not for thy good. {62}

Robyn bent a good bowe,

An arrowe he drewe at his wyll,

He hyt so the proud sheryf,

Upon the grounde he lay full styll ;

And or he myght up aryse,

On his fete to stonde,

He smote of the sheryves hede,

With his bryght bronde.

“Lye thou there, thou proud sheryf,

Evyll mote thou thryve ;

There myght no man to the trust,

The whyles thou were alyve.”

His men drewe out theyr bryght swerdes,

That were so sharpe and kene,

And layde on the sheryves men,

And dryved them downe bydene.

Robyn stert to that knyght,

And cut a two his bonde,[195]

And toke hym in his hand a bowe,

And bade hym by hym stonde.

“Leve thy hors the behynde,

And lerne for to renne ;

Thou shalt with me to grene wode,

Through myre, mosse and fenne ; {63}

Thou shalt with me to grene wode,

Without ony leasynge,

Tyll that I have gete us grace,

Of Edwarde our comly kynge.”

THE SEVENTH FYTTE

The kynge came to Notynghame,

With knyghtes in grete araye,

For to take that gentyll knyght,

And Robyn Hood, yf [196] he may.

He asked men of that countrè,

After Robyn Hode,

And after that gentyll knyght,

That was so bolde and stout.

Whan they had tolde hym the case,

Our kynge understonde ther tale,

And seased in his honde

The knyghtes londes all,

All the passe of Lancasshyre,

He went both ferre and nere,

Tyll he came to Plomton parke,

He faylyd many of his dere {64}

There our kynge was wont to se

Herdes many one,

He coud unneth fynde one dere,

That bare ony good horne.

The kynge was wonder wroth withall,

And swore by the trynytè,

“I wolde I had Robyn Hode,

With eyen I myght hym se ;

And he that wolde smyte of the knyghtes hede

And brynge it to me,

He shall have the knyghtes londes,

Syr Rycharde at the Le ;

I gyve it hym with my chartèr,

And sele it with my honde,

To have and holde for ever-more,

In all mery Englonde.”

Than bespake a fayre olde knyght,

That was treue in his fay,

A, my lege lorde the kynge,

One worde I shall you say ;

There is no man in this countrè

May have the knyghtes londes,

Whyle Robyn Hode may ryde or gone,

And here a bowe in his hondes ; {65}

That he ne shall lese his hede,

That is the best ball in his hode :

Give it no man, my lorde the kynge,

That ye wyll any good.

Half a yere dwelled our comly kynge,

In Notyngham, and well more,

Coude he not here of Robyn Hode,

In what countre that he were ;

But alway went good Robyn

By halke and eke by hyll,

And alway slewe the kynges dere,

And welt them at his wyll.

Than bespake a proude fostere,

That stode by our kynges kne,

If ye wyll se good Robyn,

Ye must do after me ;

Take fyve of the best knyghtes

That be in your lede,

And walke downe by ‘yon’ [197] abbay,

And gete you monkes wede.

And I wyll be your ledes man,

And lede you the way,

And or ye come to Notyngham,

Myn hede then dare I lay, {66}

That ye shall mete with good Robyn,

On lyve yf that he be,

Or ye come to Notyngham,

With eyen ye shall hym se.

Full hastly our kynge was dyght,

So were his knyghtes fyve,

Everych of them in monkes wede,

And hasted them thyder blyth.

Our kynge was grete above his cole,

A brode hat on his crowne,

Ryght as he were abbot-lyke,

They rode up in-to the towne.

Styf botes our kynge had on,

Forsoth as I you say,

He rode syngynge to grene wode,

The covent was clothed in graye,

His male hors, and his grete somèrs,

Folowed our kynge behynde,

Tyll they came to grene wode,

A myle under the lynde,

There they met with good Robyn,

Stondynge on the waye,

And so dyde many a bolde archere,

For soth as I you say. {67}

Robyn toke the kynges hors,

Hastely in that stede,

And sayd, Syr abbot, by your leve,

A whyle ye must abyde ;

We be yemen of this foreste,

Under the grene wode tre,

We lyve by our kynges dere,

Other shyft have not we ; [198]

And ye have chyrches and rentes both,

And gold full grete plentè ;

Gyve us some of your spendynge,

For saynt Charytè.[199]

Than bespake our cumly kynge,

Anone than sayd he,

I brought no more to grene wode,

But forty pounde with me ; {68}

I have layne at Notyngham,

This fourtynyght with our kynge,

And spent I have full moche good,

On many a grete lordynge ;

And I have but forty pounde,

No more than have I me,

But yf I had an hondred pounde,

I would geve it to the.[200]

Robyn toke the forty pounde,

And departed it in two partye,

Halfendell he gave his mery men,

And bad them mery to be.

Full curteysly Robyn gan say,

Syr, have this for your spendyng,

We shall mete a nother day.

Gramercy, than sayd our kynge ;

But well the greteth Edwarde our kynge,

And sent to the his seale,

And byddeth the com to Notyngham,

Both to mete and mele.

He toke out the brode tarpe,[201]

And sone he lete hym se ;

Robyn coud his courteysy,

And set hym on his kne : {69}

“I love no man in all the worlde

So well as I do my kynge,

Welcome is my lordes seale ;

And, monke, for thy tydynge,

Syr abbot, for thy tydynges,

To day thou shalt dyne with me,

For the love of my kynge,

Under my trystell tre.”

Forth he lad our comly kynge,

Full fayre by the honde,

Many a dere there was slayne,

And full fast dyghtande.

Robyn toke a full grete horne,

And loude he can blowe,

Seven score of wyght yonge men,

Came redy on a rowe,

All they kneeled on theyr kne,

Full fayre before Robyn.

The kygne sayd hymselfe untyll,

And swore by saynt Austyn,

Here is a wonder semely syght,

Me thynketh, by goddes pyne ;

His men are more at his byddynge,

Then my men be at myn. {70}

Full hastly was theyr dyner idyght,

And therto gan they gone,

They served our kynge with al theyr myght,

Both Robyn and Lytell Johan.

Anone before our kynge was set

The fatte venyson,

The good whyte brede, the good red wyne,

And therto the fyne ale browne.[202]

Make good chere, sayd Robyn,

Abbot, for charytè ;

And for this ylke tydynge,

Blyssed mote thou be.

Now shalte thou se what lyfe we lede,

Or thou hens wende,

Than thou may enfourme our kynge,

Whan ye togyder lende.

Up they sterte all in hast,

Theyr bowes were smartly bent,

Our kynge was never so sore agast,

He wende to have be shente.

Two yerdes there were up set,

There to gan they gange ;

By fifty pase, our kynge sayd,

The merkes were to longe. {71}

On every syde a rose garlonde,

They shot under the lyne.

Who so fayleth of the rose garlonde, sayd Robyn,

His takyll he shall tyne,

And yelde it to his mayster,

Be it never so fyne,

For no man wyll I spare,

So drynke I ale or wyne.

And bere a buffet on his hede

I wys[203] ryght all bare.

And all that fell in Robyns lote,

He smote them wonder sare.

Twyse Robyn shot aboute,

And ever he cleved the wande,

And so dyde good Gylberte,

With the whyte[204] hand.

Lytell Johan and good Scathelocke,

For nothyng wolde they spare,

When they fayled of the garlonde,

Robyn smote them full sare.

At the last shot that Robyn shot,

For all his frendes fare,

Yet he fayled of the garlonde,

Thre fyngers and mare. {72}

Than bespake good Gylberte,

And thus he gan say :

Mayster, he sayd, your takyll is lost,

Stand forth and take your pay.

If it be so, sayd Robyn,

That may no better be ;

Syr abbot, I delyver the myn arowe,

I pray the, syr, serve thou me.

It falleth not for myn order, sayd our kynge,

Robyn, by thy leve,

For to smyte no good yemàn,

For doute I sholde hym greve.

Smyte on boldely, sayd Robyn,

I give the large leve.

Anone our kynge, with that worde,

He folde up his sleve,

And sych a buffet he gave Robyn,

To grounde he yede full nere.

I make myn avowe to god, sayd Robyn,

Thou arte a stalworthe frere ;

There is pith in thyn arme, sayd Robyn,

I trowe thou canst well shote.

Thus our kynge and Robyn Hode

Togeder than they met. {73}

Robyn behelde our comly kynge

Wystly in the face,

So dyde syr Richarde at the Le,

And kneled downe in that place ;

And so dyde all the wylde outlawes,

Whan they se them knele.

“My lorde the kynge of Englonde,

Now I knowe you well.”

Mercy, then Robyn sayd to our kynge,

Under your trystyll tre,

Of thy goodnesse and thy grace,

For my men and me !

Yes, for god, sayd Robyn,

And also god me save ;

I aske mercy, my lorde the kynge,

And for my men I crave.

Yes, for god, than sayd our kynge,

Thy peticion I graunt the,

With that thou leve the grene wode,

And all thy company :

And come home, syr, to my courte,

And there dwell with me.[205]

I make myn avowe to god, sayd Robyn,

And ryght so shall it be ; {74}

I wyll come to your courte,

Your servyse for to se,

And brynge with me of my men

Seven score and thre.

But me lyke well your servyse,

I come agayne full soone,

And shote at the donne dere,

As I am wonte to done.

THE EIGHTH FYTTE.

Haste thou ony grene cloth, sayd our kynge,

That thou wylte sell nowe to me ?

Ye, for god, sayd Robyn,

Thyrty yerdes and thre.

Robyn, sayd our kynge,

Now pray I the,

To sell me some of that cloth,

To me and my meynè.

Yes, for god,[206] then sayd Robyn,

Or elles I were a fole ;

Another day ye wyll me clothe,

I trowe, ayenst the Yole. {75}

The kynge kest of his cote then,

A grene garment he dyde on,

And every knyght had so, I wys,

They clothed them full soone.[207]

Whan they were clothed in Lyncolne grene,

They kest away theyr graye.

Now we shall to Notyngham,

All thus our kynge gan say.

Theyr bowes bente and forth they went,

Shotynge all in-fere,

Towarde the towne of Notyngham,

Outlawes as they were.

Our kynge and Robyn rode togyder,

For soth as I you say,

And they shote plucke-buffet,

As they went by the way ;

And many a buffet our kynge wan

Of Robyn Hode that day ;

And nothynge spared good Robyn

Our kynge in his pay.

So god me helpe, sayd our kynge,

Thy game is nought to lere,

I sholde not get a shote of the,

Though I shote all this yere. {76}

All the people of Notyngham

They stode and behelde,

They sawe nothynge but mantels of grene

That covered all the felde ;

Than every man to other gan say,

I drede our kynge be slone ;

Come Robyn Hode to the towne, I wys,

On lyve he leveth not one.[208]

Full hastly they began to fle,

Both yemen and knaves,

And olde wyves that myght evyll goo,

They hypped on theyr staves.

The kynge loughe[209] full fast,

And commanded theym agayne ;

When they se our comly kynge,

I wys they were full fayne.

They ete and dranke, and made them glad,

And sange with notes hye.

Than bespake our comly kynge

To syr Rycharde at the Lee :

He gave hym there his londe agayne,

A good man he bad hym be.

Robyn thanked our comly kynge,

And set hym on his kne. {77}

Had Robyn dwelled in the kynges courte

But twelve monethes and thre,

That he had spent an hondred pounde,

And all his mennes fe.

In every place where Robyn came,

Ever more he layde downe,

Both for knyghtes and for squyres,

To gete hym grete renowne.

By than the yere was all agone,

He had no man but twayne,

Lytell Johan and good Scathelocke,

Wyth hym all for to gone.

Robyn sawe yonge men shote,

Full fayre[210] upon a day,

Alas ! than sayd good Robyn,

My welthe is went away.

Somtyme I was an archere good,

A styffe and eke a stronge,

I was commytted [211] the best archere,

That was in mery Englonde.

Alas ! then sayd good Robyn,

Alas and well a woo !

Yf I dwele lenger with the kynge,

Sorowe wyll me sloo. {78}

Forth than went Robyn Hode,

Tyll he came to our kynge :

“My lorde the kynge of Englonde,

Graunte me myn askynge.

I made a chapell in Bernysdale,

That semely is to se,

It is of Mary Magdalene,

And thereto wolde I be ;

I myght never in this seven nyght,

No tyme to slepe ne wynke,

Nother all these seven dayes,

Nother ete ne drynke.

Me longeth sore to Bernysdale,

I may not be therfro,

Barefote and wolwarde I have hyght

Thyder for to go.”

Yf it be so, than sayd our kynge,

It may no better be ;

Seven nyght I gyve the leve,

No lengre, to dwell fro me.

Gramercy, lorde, then sayd Robyn,

And set hym on his kne ;

He toke his leve full courteysly,

To grene wode then went he. {79}

Whan he came to grene wode,

In a mery mornynge,

There he herde the notes small

Of byrdes mery syngynge.

It is ferre gone, sayd Robyn,

That I was last here,

Me lyste a lytell for to shote

At the donne dere.

Robyn slewe a full grete harte,

His horne than gan he blow,

That all the outlawes of that forèst,

That horne coud they knowe,

And gadred them togyder,

In a lytell throwe,

Seven score of wight yonge men,

Came redy on a rowe ;

And fayre dyde of theyr hodes,

And set them on theyr kne :

Welcome, they sayd, our maystèr,

Under this grene wode tre.

Robyn dwelled in grene wode,

Twenty yere and two,

For all drede of Edwarde our kynge

Agayne wolde he not goo. {80}

Yet he was begyled, I wys,

Through a wycked womàn,

The pryoresse of Kyrkesly,

That nye was of his kynne,

For the love of a knyght,

Syr Roger of Donkestèr,[212]

That was her owne speciall,

Full evyll mote they ‘fare.’ [213]

They toke togyder theyr counsell

Robyn Hode for to sle,

And how they myght best do that dede,

His banis for to be.

Than bespake good Robyn,

In place where as he stode,

To morow I muste to Kyrkesley,

Craftely to be leten blode.

Sir Roger of Donkestere,

By the pryoresse he lay,

And there they betrayed good Robyn Hode

Through theyr false playe.

Cryst have mercy on his soule,

That dyed on the rode !

For he was a good outlawe,

And dyde pore men moch god.

II. ROBYN HODE [AND THE POTTER].

This curious, and hitherto unpublished, and even unheard of, old piece is given from a manuscript among Bishop More’s collections, in the public library of the University of Cambridge (Ee. 4. 35). The writing, which is evidently that of a vulgar and illiterate person, appears to be of the age of Henry the Seventh, that is, about the year 1500; but the composition (which he has irremediably corrupted) is probably of an earlier period, and much older, no doubt, than “The Play of Robyn Hode,” which seems allusive to the same story. At the end of the original is “Expleycyt Robyn Hode.” {82}

In schomer, when the leves spryng,

The bloschems on every bowe,

So merey doyt the berdys syng,

Yn wodys merey now.

Herkens, god yemen,

Comley, cortessey, and god,

On of the best that yever bar bou,

Hes name was Roben Hode.

Roben Hood was the yemans name,

That was boyt corteys and fre ;

For the loffe of owr ladey,

All wemen werschep ‘he.’ [214]

Bot as the god yeman stod on a day,

Among hes mery manèy,

He was war of a prowd potter,

Cam dryfyng owyr the ‘ley.’ [215]

Yonder comet a prod potter, seyde[216] Roben,

That long hayt hantyd this wey,

He was never so corteys a man

On peney of pawage to pay. {83}

Y met hem bot at Wentbreg, seyde[217] Lytyll John,

And therfor yeffell mot he the,

Seche thre strokes he me gafe,

Yet they cleffe by my seydys.

Y ley forty shillings, seyde Lytyll John,

To pay het thes same day,

Ther ys nat a man among hus[218] all

A wed schall make hem ley.[219]

Her ys forty shillings, seyde Robèn,

Mor, and thow dar say,

That y schall make that prowde pottèr,

A wed to me schall he ley.

Ther thes money they leyde,

They toke het a yeman to kepe ;

Roben befor the potter he breyde,

‘And up to hem can lepe.’ [220]

Handys apon hes horse he leyde,

And bad ‘hem’ [221] stonde foll stell.

The potter schorteley to hem seyde,

Felow, what ys they well ?

All thes thre yer, and mor, potter, he seyde,

Thow hast hantyd thes wey,

Yet wer tow never so cortys a man

One peney of pauage to pay. {84}

What ys they name, seyde the potter,

For pauage thow aske of me ?

“Roben Hod ys mey name,

A wed schall thow leffe me.”

Wed well y non leffe, seyde the potter,

Nor pavag well y non pay ;

Awey they honde fro mey horse,

Y well the tene eyls, be mey fay.

The potter to hes cart he went,

He was not to seke,

A god to-hande staffe therowt he hent,

Befor Roben he ‘lepe.’ [222]

Roben howt with a swerd bent,

A bokeler on hes honde [therto] ;

The potter to Roben he went,

And seyde, Felow, let mey horse go.

Togeder then went thes two yemen,

Het was a god seyt to se ;

Therof low Robyn hes men,

Ther they stod onder a tre.

Leytell John to hes felowhes[223] seyde,

Yend potter welle steffeley stonde.

The potter, with a caward stroke,

Smot the bokeler owt of hes honde ; {85}

And [224] ar Roben meyt get hen agen,

Hes bokeler at hes fette,

The potter yn the neke hem toke,

To the gronde sone he yede.

That saw Roben hes men,

As thay stode ender a bow ;

Let us helpe owr master, seyed Lytell John,

Yonder potter els well [225] hem sclo.

These yemen went[226] with a breyde,

To ‘ther’ [227] master they cam.

Leytell John to hes master seyde,

Ho haet the wager won ?

Schall y haff yowr forty shillings, seyde Lytel [228] John,

Or ye, master, schall haffe myne ?

Yeff they wer a hundred, seyde Robèn,

Y feythe, they ben all theyne.

Het ys fol leytell cortesey, seyde the potter,

As y haffe harde weyse men saye,

Yeff a por yeman com drywyng ower the wey,

To let hem of hes gorney.

Be mey trowet, thow seys soyt, seyde Roben,

Thow seys god yemenrey ; [229]

And thow dreyffe forthe yevery day,

Thow schalt never be let for me. {86}

Y well prey the, god potter,

A felischepe well thow haffe ?

Geffe me they clothyng, and thow schalt hafe myne ;

Y well go to Notynggam.

Y grant[230] therto, seyde the potter,

Thow schalt feynde me a felow gode ;

Bot thow can sell mey pottes well,

Com ayen as thow yode.[231]

Nay, be mey trowt, seyde Roben,

And then y bescro mey hede,

Yeffe y bryng eney pottes ayen,

And eney weyffe well hem chepe.

Than spake Leytell John,

And all hes felowhes heynd,

Master, be well war of the screffe of Notynggam,

For he ys leytell howr frende.

Thorow the helpe of howr ladey,

Felowhes, let me alone ;

Heyt war howte, seyde Roben,

To Notynggam well y gon.

Robyn went to Notynggam,

Thes pottes for to sell ;

The potter abode with Robens men,

Ther he fered not eylle.[232] {87}

Tho Roben droffe on hes wey,

So merey ower the londe.

Heres mor and affter ys to saye,

The best ys beheynde.

[THE SECOND FIT.]

When Roben cam to Notynggam,

The soyt yef y scholde saye,

He set op hes horse anon,

And gaffe hem hotys and haye.

Yn the medys of the towne,

Ther he schowed hes war,

Pottys ! pottys ! he gan crey foll sone,

Haffe hansell for the mar.

Foll effen agenest the screffeys gate,

Schowed he hes chaffar ;

Weyffes and wedowes abowt hem drow,

And chepyd fast of hes war.

Yet, Pottys, gret chepe ! creyed Robyn,

Y loffe yeffell thes to stonde.

And all that saw[233] hem sell,

Seyde he had be no potter long. {88}

The pottys that wer werthe pens feyfte,

He solde tham for pens thre :

Preveley seyde man and weyffe,

Ywnder potter schall never the.

Thos Roben solde foll fast,

Tell he had pottys bot feyffe ;

Op he hem toke of his car,

And sende hem to the screffeys weyffe.

Therof sche was foll fayne,

Gereamarsey, sir, than seyde sche,[234]

When ye com to thes contre ayen,

Y schall bey of ‘they’ [235] pottys, so mot y the.

Ye schall haffe of the best, seyde Roben,

And swar be the treneytè.

Foll corteysley ‘she’ [236] gan hem call,

Come deyne with the screfe and me.

Godamarsey, seyde Roben,

Yowr bedyng schall be doyn.

A mayden yn the pottys gan ber,

Roben and the screffe weyffe folowed anon.

Whan Roben ynto the hall cam,

The screffe sone he met,

The potter cowed of corteysey,

And sone the screffe he gret.

THE BANQUET.

THE BANQUET.

{89}

“Loketh[237] what thes potter hayt geffe yow and me !

Feyffe pottys smalle and grete !”

He ys fol welcom, seyd the screffe,

Let os was, and ‘go’ [238] to mete.

As they sat at her methe,

With a nobell cher,

Two of the screffes men gan speke

Off a gret wagèr,

Was made the thother daye,

Off a schotyng was god and feyne,[239]

Off forty shillings, the soyt to saye,

Who scholde thes wager wen.

Styll than sat thes prowde potter,

Thos than thowt he,

As y am a trow Cerstyn man,

Thes schotyng well y se.

When they had fared of the best,

With bred and ale and weyne,

To the ‘bottys they’ [240] made them prest,

With bowes and boltys[241] foll feyne.

The screffes men schot foll fast,

As archares that weren godde,

Ther cam non ner ney the marke

Bey halfe a god archares bowe. {90}

Stell then stod the prowde potter,

Thos than seyde he,

And y had a bow, be the rode,

On schot scholde yow se.

Thow schall haffe a bow, seyde the screffe,

The best that thow well cheys of thre :

Thow semyst[242] a stalward and a stronge,

Asay schall thow be.

The screffe comandyd a yeman that stod hem bey

Affter bowhes to wende ;

The best bow that the yeman browthe

Roben set on a stryng.

“Now schall y wet and thow be god,

And polle het op to they ner.”

So god me helpe, seyde the prowde pottèr,

Thys ys bot rygzt weke ger.

To a quequer Roben went,

A god bolt owthe he toke,

So ney on to the marke he went,

He fayled not a fothe.

All they schot abowthe agen,

The screffes men and he,

Off the marke he welde not fayle,

He cleffed the preke on thre. {91}

The screffes men thowt gret schame,

The potter the mastry wan ;

The screffe lowe and made god game,

And seyde, Potter, thow art a man ;

Thow art worthey to ber a bowe,

Yn what plas that thow ‘gang.’ [243]

Yn mey cart y haffe a bowe,

Forsoyt, he seyde, and that a godde ;

Yn mey cart ys the bow

That ‘I had of Robyn Hode.’ [244]

Knowest thow Robyn Hode ? seyde the screffe,

Potter, y prey the tell thou me.

“A hundred torne y haffe schot with hem,

Under hes tortyll tre.”

Y had lever nar a hundred ponde, seyde the screffe,

And swar be the trenitè,

[Y had lever nar a hundred ponde, he seyde,]

That the fals owtelawe stod be me.

And ye well do afftyr mey red, seyde the potter,

And boldeley go with me,

And to morow, or we het bred,

Roben Hode wel we se. {92}

Y well queyt the, kod the screffe,

And swere be god of meythe.[245]

Schetyng thay left, and hom they went,

Her scoper was redey deythe.

Upon the morow, when het was day,

He boskyd hem forthe to reyde ;

The potter hes carte forthe gan ray,

And wolde not [be] leffe beheynde.

He toke leffe of the screffys wyffe,

And thankyd her of all thyng :

“Dam, for mey loffe, and ye well thys wer,

Y geffe yow her a golde ryng.”

Gramarsey, seyde the weyffe,

Sir, god eylde het the.

The screffes hart was never so leythe,

The feyr forest to se.

And when he cam ynto the foreyst,

Yonder the leffes grene,

Berdys ther sange on bowhes prest,

Het was gret goy to sene.

Her het ys merey to be,[246] seyde Roben,

For a man that had hawt to spende :

Be mey horne ‘we’ [247] schal awet

Yeff Roben Hode be ‘ner hande.’ {93}

Roben set hes horne to hes[248] mowthe,

And blow a blast that was foll god,

That herde hes men that ther stode,

Fer[249] downe yn the wodde.

I her mey master, seyde Leytyll John :

They ran as thay wer wode.

Whan thay to thar master cam,

Leytell John wold not spar :

“Master, how haffe yow far yn Notynggam ?

Haffe[250] yow solde yowr war ?”

“Ye, be mey trowthe, Leytyll [251] John,

Loke thow take no car ;

Y haffe browt the screffe of Notynggam,

For all howr chaffar.”

He ys foll wellcom, seyde Lytyll John,

Thes tydyng ys foll godde.

The screffe had lever nar a hundred ponde

[He had never sene Roben Hode].

“Had I west[252] that beforen,

At Notynggam when we wer,

Thow scholde not com yn feyr forest

Of all thes thowsande eyr.” {94}

That wot y well, seyde Roben,

Y thanke god that y be[253] her ;

Therfor schall ye leffe yowr horse with hos,

And all your hother ger.

That fend I godys forbode, kod the screffe,

So to lese mey godde.

“Hether ye[254] cam on horse foll hey,

And hom schall ye go on fote ;

And gret well they weyffe at home,

The woman ys foll godde.

Y schall her sende a wheyt palffrey,[255]

Het hambellet as the weynde ;

Ner for the loffe of yowr weyffe,

Off mor sorow scholde yow seyng.”

Thes parted Robyn Hode and the screffe,

To Notynggam he toke the waye ;

Hes weyffe feyr welcomed hem hom,

And to hem gan sche saye :

Seyr, how haffe yow fared yn grene foreyst ?

Haffe ye browt Roben hom ?

“Dam, the deyell spede hem, bothe bodey and bon,

Y haffe hade a foll grete skorne. {95}

Of all the god that y haffe lade to grene wod,

He hayt take het fro me,

All bot this feyr palffrey,

That he hayt sende to the.”

With that sche toke op a lowde lawhyng,

And swhar be hem that deyed on tre :

“Now haffe you payed for all the pottys

That Roben gaffe to me.

Now ye be com hom to Notynggam,

Ye schall haffe god ynowe.”

Now speke we of Roben Hode,

And of the pottyr onder the grene bowhe.[256]

“Potter, what was they pottys worthe

To Notynggam that y ledde with me ?”

They wer worth two nobellys, seyd he,

So mot y treyffe or the ;

So cowde y had for tham,

And y had ther be.[257]

Thow schalt hafe ten ponde, seyde Roben,

Of money feyr and fre :

And yever whan thow comest to grene wod,

Wellcom, potter, to me. {96}

Thes partyd Robyn, the screffe, and the potter,

Ondernethe the grene wod tre.

God haffe mersey on Roben Hodys solle,

And saffe all god yemanrey ! {97}