"[Let] thou never my wedded lorde
[Shamfully slayne to be;]
He is fast ibounde to Notyngham warde,
For the love of the."
Anone then sayd good Robyn,85
To that lady fre,
"What man hath your lorde itake?"
["The proude shirife," than sayd she.]
["The proude sheryfe hath hym itake]
Forsoth as I the say;90
He is not yet thre myles
Passed on [his waye]."
Up then sterte good Robyn,
As a man that had be wode;
"Buske you, my mery young men,95
For hym that dyed on a rode.
"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."]100
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,105
"The [sheryf] wolde I fayn se,
And yf I may hym take,
Iquyt than shall [he] bee."
And whan they came to Notyngham,
They walked in the strete,110
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,115
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 proude sheryfe,
[That is not for thy good."]120