CXLV
It was upon a merry day,
That young men would go shete[796];
Little John fet[797] his bow anon,
And said he would them meet.
CXLVI
Three times Little John shot about,
And alway cleft the wand,
The proud Sherìff of Nottingham
By the marks gan stand.
CXLVII
The Sheriff swore a full great oath,
‘By Him that died on a tree,
This man is the best archèr
That yet saw I me.
CXLVIII
‘Say me now, wight[798] young man,
What is now thy name?
In what country were thou born,
And where is thy woning wane[799]?’—
CXLIX
‘In Holderness I was bore,
I-wis[800], all of my dame,
Men call me Reynold Greenleaf,
When I am at hame.’—