"And he that wolde smyte of the knyghtes hede,25
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,30
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,35
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 bere a bowe in his hondes,40
"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 kynge45
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,50
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,55
Ye must do after me.
"Take fyve of the best knyghtes
That be in your lede,
And walk downe by [yon] abbay,
And gete you monkes wede.60
"And I wyll be your ledes man,
And lede you the way,
And or ye come to Notyngham,
Myn hede then dare I lay,