Robyn loved our dere lady;
For doute of dedely synne,
Wolde he never do company harme
That ony woman was ynne.40
"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,45
Where we shall abide behynde,
Where we shall robbe, where we shall reve,
Where we shall bete and bynde."
"Therof no fors," said Robyn,
"We shall do well ynough;50
But loke ye do no housbonde harme
That tylleth with his plough;
"No more ye shall no good yemàn,
That walketh by grene wode shawe,
Ne no knyght, ne no squyèr,55
That wolde be a good felawe.
"These byshoppes, and thyse archebysshoppes,
Ye shall them bete and bynde;
The hye sheryfe of Notynghame,
Hym holde in your mynde."60
"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,65
"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],70
And wayte after some unketh gest,
Up-chaunce ye mowe them mete.
"Be he erle or ony baròn,
Abbot or ony knyght,
Brynge hym to lodge to me,75
Hys dyner shall be dyght."