That all the best archers of the north
Sholde come upon a daye,10
[And he that shoteth altherbest]
The game shall bere away.
He that shoteth [altherbest]
Furthest fayre and lowe,
At a payre of fynly buttes,15
Under the grene wode shawe,
A ryght good arowe he shall have,
The shaft of sylver whyte,
The heade and the feders of ryche rede golde,
In Englond is none lyke.20
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,25
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,30
Seven score of wyght yonge men
Stode by Robyns kne.
"Whan they cam to Notyngham,
The buttes were fayre and longe;
Many was the bolde archere35
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."40
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,45
And alway [he slist] the wand,
And so dyde good Gylberte
With the whyte hande.