Out at the durre he ran,
Fful sone and anon;
Alle the yatis[968] of Notyngham
He made to be sparred[969] euerychon.
XXI
‘Rise up,’ he seid, ‘thou prowde Schereff,
Buske[970] the and make the bowne[971];
I have spyèd the Kynggis felon,
Fforsothe he is in this town.
XXII
‘I have spyèd the false felon,
As he stondis at his masse;
Hit is long of[972] the,’ seide the munke
‘And ever he fro us passe.
XXIII
‘This traytur name is Robyn Hode,
Under the grene-wode lynde;
He robbyt me onys of a hundred pound,
Hit shalle never out of my mynde.’
XXIV
Up then rose this prowde Shereff,
And radly[973] made hym yare[974];
Many was the moder son
To the kyrk with hym can fare.