CCLXXXII

Lithe and listen, Gentlemen,
And hearken what I shall say,
How the proud Sheriff of Nottingham,
Did cry a full fair play;

CCLXXXIII

That all the best archers of the North
Should come upon a day,
‘And he that shooteth alder-best[861]
The game shall bear away.

CCLXXXIV

‘He that shooteth alder-best,
Furthest, fair, and law[862],
At a pair of fynly[863] butts,
Under the green-wood shaw,

CCLXXXV

‘A right good arrow he shall have,
The shaft of silver white,
The head and feathers of rich red gold,
In England is none like.’

CCLXXXVI

This then heardè good Robin,
Under his trystell-tree:
‘Make you ready, ye wight young men;
That shooting will I see.