Robyn was a proude outlawe,
Whyles he walked on grounde,

So courteyse an outlawe as he was one
Was never none yfounde.

Robyn stode in Bernysdale,
And lened hym to a tree,
And by hym stode Lytell Johan,
A good yeman was he;

And also dyde good Scathelock,
And Much the millers sone;
There was no ynche of his body,
But it was worthe a grome.

Than bespake hym Lytell Johan
All unto Robyn Hode,
'Mayster, yf ye wolde dyne betyme,
It wolde do you moch good.'

Then bespake good Robyn,
'To dyne I have no lust,
Tyll I have some bolde baròn,
Or some unketh gest,

[Or els some byshop or abbot]
That may paye for the best;
Or some knyght or some squyere
That dwelleth here by west.'

A good maner than had Robyn,

In londe where that he were, Every daye or he woulde dyne

Thre messes wolde he here:

The one in the worshyp of the fader,
The other of the holy goost,

The thyrde was of our dere lady,
That he loved of all other moste.

Robyn loved our dere lady,

For doute of dedely synne; Wolde he never do company harme That ony woman was ynne.

Mayster,' than sayd Lytell Johan, 'And we our borde shall sprede, Tell us whether we shall gone,

Where we shall take, where we shall leve,
Where we shall abide behynde,

Where we shall robbe, where we shall reve,
Where we shall bete and bynde.'

"Ther of no fors,' said Robyn,
We shall do well ynough;
But loke ye do no housbonde harme
That tylleth with his plough;

No more ye shall no good yemàn,

That walketh by grene wode shawe.

Ne no knyght, ne no squyèr,

That wolde be a good felawe.

These byshoppes, and thyse archebysshoppes,
Ye shall them bete and bynde;
The hye sheryfe of Notynghame,

Hym holde in your mynde.'

"This worde shall be holde,' sayd Lytyll Johan, 'And this lesson shall we lere;

It is ferre dayes, god sende us a gest,

That we were at our dynere.'

'Take thy good bowe in thy hande,' said Robyn, 'Let Moche wende with the,

And so shall Wyllyam Scathelocke,

And no man abyde with me:

And walke up to the Sayles,
And so to Watlynge-strete,
And wayte after some unketh gest,
Up-chaunce ye mowe them mete.

Be he erle or ony baron,
Abbot or ony knyght,

Brynge hym to lodge to me,
Hys dyner shall be dyght.'

They wente unto the Sayles,
These yemen all thre,

They loked est, they loked west,
They myght no man see.

But as they loked in Barnysdale,

By a derne strete,

Then came there a knyght rydynge,

Full sone they gan hym mete.

All dreri then was his semblaunte,
And lytell was hys pryde,

Hys one fote in the sterope stode,
That other waved besyde.

Hys hode hangynge over hys eyen two,
He rode in symple aray;
A soryer man than he was one
Rode never in somers-day.

Lytell Johan was curteyse,
And set hym on his kne:
'Welcome be ye, gentyll knyght,
Welcome are you to me,

Welcome be thou to grene wood,
Hende knyght and fre;

My mayster hath abyden you fastynge,
Syr, all these oures thre.'

'Who is your mayster?' sayd the knyght. Johan sayde, Robyn Hode.'

'He is a good yeman,' sayd the knyght, 'Of hym I have herde moch good.

I graunte,' he sayd, with you to wende,
My brethren all in-fere;

My purpose was to have deyned to day
At Blythe or Dankastere,'

Forthe than went this gentyll knyght,

With a carefull chere,

The teres out of his eyen ran,

And fell downe by his lere.

They brought hym unto the lodge dore, When Robyn gan hym se,

Full curteysly dyde of his hode,

And set hym on his kne.

'Welcome, syr knyght,' then said Robyn,

'Welcome thou arte to me,

I haue abyde you fastynge, syr,

All these houres thre.'

Then answered the gentyll knyght

With wordes fayre and fre,

'God the save, good Robyn,

They washed togyder and wyped bothe,

And set tyll theyr dynere;

Brede and wyne they had ynough,

And nombles of the dere;

Swannes and fesauntes they had full good,

And foules of the revere;

There fayled never so lytell a byrde,
That ever was bred on brere.

Do gladly, syr knyght,' sayd Robyn.

Gramercy, syr,' sayd he,

'Such a dyner had I not

Of all these wekes thre

If I come agayne, Robyn,
Here by this countrè,

As good a dyner I shall the make,

As thou hast made to me.'

Gramercy, knyght,' sayd Robyn,

'My dyner whan I have,

I was never so gredy, by dere worthy god,
My dyner for to crave.

But pay or ye wende,' sayd Robyn,

Me thynketh it is good ryght;

It was never the maner, by dere worthy god,
A yeman to pay for a knyght.'

'I have nought in my cofers,' sayd the knyght,
That I may profer for shame.'

'Lytell Johan, go loke,' sayd Robyn,

Ne let not for no blame.

Tell me trouth,' sayd Robyn,

'So god have parte of the.'

'I have no more but ten shillings,' sayd the knyght,

'So god have parte of me.'

'Yf thou have no more,' sayd Robyn,

'I wyll not one peny;

And yf thou have nede of ony more,

More shall I len the.

Go now forth, Lytell Johan,

The trouthe tell thou me,

Yf there be no more but ten shillings,
Not one penny that I se.'

Lytell Johan spred downe his mantell,
Full fayre upon the grounde,

And there he found in the knyghtes cofer
But even halfe a pounde.

Lytyll Johan let it lye full styll,

And went to his mayster full lowe. 'What tydynge, Johan?' sayd Robyn. Syr, the knyght is trewe inough.'

'Fyll of the best wyne,' sayd Robyn, The knyght shall begynne;

Moch wonder thynketh me

Thy clothynge is so thynne,

Tell me one worde,' sayd Robyn,

'And counsell shall it be;

I trowe thou were made a knyght of forse,
Or elles of yemanry;

Or elles thou hast ben a sory housband,
And leved in stroke and stryfe;
An okerer, or elles a lechoure,' said Robyn,
'With wronge hast thou lede thy lyfe.'

'I am none of them,' sayd the knyght,
'By god that made me;

An hondreth wynter here before,
Myne aunsetters knyghtes have be

But ofte it hath befal, Robyn,
A man hath be dysgrate;

But god that syteth in heven above
May amend his state.

Within two or thre yere, Robyn,' he sayd,

'My neyghbores well it kende,

Foure hondreth pounde of good money

Full wel than myghte I spende.

Now have I no good,' sayd the knyght,
'But my chyldren and my wyfe;

God hath shapen such an ende,
Tyll god may amende my lyfe.'