"I have be in this forest,
A fayre syght can I se;
It was one of the fayrest [syghtes]
That ever yet sawe I me.
"Yonder I se a ryght fayre hart,165
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,170
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,175
Anone, and wende with me."
The sheryfe rode, and Lytell Johan
Of fote he was full smarte;
And when they came afore Robyn,
"Lo, here is the mayster harte!"180
Styll stode the proud sheryf,
A sory man was he:
"[Wo worthe the], Raynolde Grenelefe!
Thou hast now betrayed me."
"I make myn avowe to god," sayd Lytell Johan,185
"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;190
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,195
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,200