Then on he rushed, with his staff uprais'd,
And dealt bold Robin a blow;
But he was ware, and stopped him there,
With his long and tough yew bow.
And Robin put his Horn to his mouth,
And blew both loud and shrill;
And soon appeared five wight yeomen
Come running down the hill.
The first was a man hight Little John,
A yeoman good and tall;
The next Will Scarlet of gentle blood,
Bred up in bower and hall;
The third, the minstrel, Alan a Dale,
So well with the harp sang he;
The fourth was stalwart Clym o' the Clough,
And William of Cloudeslie.
"Now, hold your hands," bold Robin cried,
"Stand by and see fair play;
And the keeper and I will try this bout,
And see who'll win the day.
The Bearward shall lay the dainty buck
On this mossy boulder stone;
And he that fairly knocks down his foe,
The fat buck shall have won."
"A match, a match," cried the yeomen all,
"Whoever shall say it nay,
'Tis better ye two should fight it out,
Than all should join in the fray:
So handle your staves, and to it like men,
As it may no better be;
And he that first brings his man to ground,
Shall gain the victory."
Then Ralph the Ranger squared his staff,
And gloured on Robin the while;
The outlaw's staff lay loose in his hands,
And he scarce forbore to smile.
They stood together like Brothers twain,
Good men at their hands and tall;
But each seemed loth to begin the strife,
Lest he first should have the fall.
And round and round each pressed his man,
Before he could get a blow;
So well on guard, each kept his ward,
As they traversed to and fro.
With feint and dodge each tried to draw,
His wary foeman forth;
But both were cool, and cautious too;
Like the good men of the north.
Bold Robin first his staff let fly,
(The challenger was he,)
And for the honor of his craft,
He must not dastard be.
Woe worth the while he dealt the blow,
His staff had scarcely flown;
When Ralph's came dead athwart his head,
And well nigh cracked his crown.
He backward gave a step or two,
But not one whit dismayed;
Though now the Keeper's quarter staff
About his shoulders played:
His eye was keen, his hand was true,
As well the Keeper found;
For his staff did knap the Keeper's cap,
And bring him to the ground.
"The buck is mine," the outlaw said,
"Unless thou lik'st to try
Which of us twain upon the ground,
Can best make arrow fly.
For kingly blood ye tend the frith;
Ye ought to shoot right well:
For mine own hand will I draw a bow,
And see who bears the bell."
"A match, a match!" cried the yeomen all,
"Whoever shall say it nay;
Good men ye are if ye shoot a shaft,
As ye've handled the staff this day.
So fix your mark, and choose your ground,
And it may no better be;
And he that first cleaves the willow wand,
Shall gain the victory."