All they kneeled on theyr kne,145
Full fayre before Robyn:
The kynge sayd hymselfe untyll,
And swore by saynt Austyn,
"Here is a wonder semely syght;
Me thynketh, by goddes pyne,150
His men are more at his byddynge,
Then my men be at myn."
Full hastly was theyr dyner idyght,
And therto gan they gone;
They served our kynge with al theyr myght,155
Both Robyn and Lytell Johan.
Anone before our kynge was set
The fatte venyson,
The good whyte brede, the good red wyne,
And therto the fyne [ale browne].160
"Make good chere," said Robyn,
"Abbot, for charytè;
And for this ylke tydynge,
Blyssed mote thou be.
"Now shalte thou se what life we lede,165
Or thou hens wende;
Than thou may enfourme our kynge,
Whan ye togyder lende."
Up they sterte all in hast,
Theyr bowes were smartly bent;170
Our kynge was never so sore agast,
He wende to have be shente.
Two yerdes there were up set,
There to gan they gange;
By fifty pase, our kynge sayd,175
The merkes were to longe.
On every syde a rose garlonde,
They shot under the lyne:
"Who so fayleth of the rose garlonde," sayd Robyn,
"His takyll he shall tyne,180
"And yelde it to his mayster,
Be it never so fyne;
For no man wyll I spare,
So drynke I ale or wyne;—