CLXXX
‘I make mine avow to God,’ said Robin,
‘And to the Trinity,
It was never by his good will,
This good is come to me.’
CLXXXI
Little John him there bethought,
On a shrewèd wile,
Five mile in the forest he ran,
Him happèd at his will.
CLXXXII
Then he met the proud Sheriff,
Hunting with hound and horn,
Little John cou’d[811] his courtesy,
And kneelèd him beforn:
CLXXXIII
‘God thee save, my dear master,
And Christ thee save and see!’—
‘Reynold Greenleaf,’ said the Sheriff,
‘Where hast thou now be?’—
CLXXXIV
‘I have been in this forest,
A fair sight can I see,
It was one of the fairest sights
That ever yet saw I me;