| |
| Lyth and lystyn, gentilmen, | |
| All that nowe be here; | |
| Of Litell Johnn, that was the knightes man, | |
| Goode myrth ye shall here. | |
| |
| It was upon a mery day | 5 |
| That yonge men wolde go shete; | |
| Lytell Johnn fet his bowe anone, | |
| And sayde he wolde them mete. | |
| |
| Thre tymes Litell Johnn shet aboute, | |
| And alway cleft the wande; | 10 |
| The proude sherif of Notingham | |
| By the markes gan stande. | |
| |
| The sherif swore a full greate othe: | |
| By hym that dyede on a tre, | |
| This man is the best arschere | 15 |
| That ever I dyd see. | |
| |
| ‘Say me nowe, wight yonge man, | |
| What is nowe thy name? | |
| In what countre were thou borne, | |
| And where is thy wonynge wane?’ 1 | 20 |
| |
| ‘In Holdernes, sir, I was borne, | |
| I-wys al of my dame; | |
| Men cal me Reynolde Grenelef | |
| Whan I am at home.’ | |
| |
| ‘Sey me, Reynolde Grenelefe, | 25 |
| Wolde thou dwell with me? | |
| And every yere I woll the gyve | |
| Twenty marke to thy fee.’ | |
| |
| ‘I have a maister,’ sayde Litell Johnn, | |
| ‘A curteys knight is he; | 30 |
| May ye levë gete of hym, | |
| The better may it be.’ | |
| |
| The sherif gate Litell John | |
| Twelve moneths of the knight; | |
| Therefore he gave him right anone | 35 |
| A gode hors and a wight. 2 | |
| |
| Nowe is Litell John the sherifes man, | |
| God lende us well to spede! | |
| But alwey thought Lytell John | |
| To quyte hym wele his mede. 3 | 40 |
| |
| ‘Nowe so God me helpe,’ sayde Litell John, | |
| ‘And by my true leutye, 4 | |
| I shall be the worst servaunt to hym | |
| That ever yet had he.’ | |
| |
| It fell upon a Wednesday | 45 |
| The sherif on huntynge was gone, | |
| And Litel John lay in his bed, | |
| And was foriete 5 at home. | |
| |
| Therfore he was fastinge | |
| Til it was past the none; | 50 |
| ‘Gode sir stuarde, I pray to the, | |
| Gyve me my dynere,’ saide Litell John. | |
| |
| ‘It is to longe for Grenelefe | |
| Fastinge thus for to be; | |
| Therfor I pray the, sir stuarde, | 55 |
| Mi dyner gif thou me.’ | |
| |
| ‘Shalt thou never ete ne drynke,’ saide the stuarde, | |
| ‘Tyll my lorde be come to towne’: | |
| ‘I make myn avowe to God,’ saide Litell John, | |
| ‘I had lever to crake thy crowne.’ | 60 |
| |
| The boteler was full uncurteys, | |
| There he stode on flore; | |
| He start to the botery | |
| And shet fast the dore. | |
| |
| Lytell Johnn gave the boteler suche a tap | 65 |
| His backe went nere in two; | |
| Though he liveth an hundred wynter, | |
| The wors he still shall goe. | |
| |
| He sporned the dore with his fote; | |
| It went open wel and fyne; | 70 |
| And there he made large lyveray, 6 | |
| Bothe of ale and of wyne. | |
| |
| ‘Sith ye wol nat dyne,’ sayde Litell John, | |
| ‘I shall gyve you to drinke; | |
| And though ye lyve an hundred wynter, | 75 |
| On Lytel Johnn ye shall thinke.’ | |
| |
| Litell John ete, and Litel John drank, | |
| The whilë that he wolde; | |
| The sherife had in his kechyn a coke, | |
| A stoute man and a bolde. | 80 |
| |
| ‘I make myn avowe to God,’ saide the coke, | |
| ‘Thou arte a shrewde hyne 7 | |
| In ani householde for to dwel, | |
| For to aske thus to dyne.’ | |
| |
| And there he lent Litell John | 85 |
| Godë strokis thre; | |
| ‘I make myn avowe,’ sayde Lytell John, | |
| ‘These strokis lyked well me. | |
| |
| ‘Thou arte a bolde man and a hardy, | |
| And so thinketh me; | 90 |
| And or I pas fro this place | |
| Assayed better shalt thou be.’ | |
| |
| Lytell Johnn drew a ful gode sworde, | |
| The coke toke another in hande; | |
| They thought no thynge for to fle, | 95 |
| But stifly for to stande. | |
| |
| There they faught sore togedere | |
| Two mylë way 8 and more; | |
| Myght neyther other harme done, | |
| The mountnaunce of an owre. 9 | 100 |
| |
| ‘I make myn avowe to God,’ sayde Litell Johnn, | |
| ‘And by my true lewtë; | |
| Thou art one of the best sworde-men | |
| That ever yit sawe I me. | |
| |
| ‘Cowdest thou shote as well in a bowe, | 105 |
| To grene wode thou shuldest with me, | |
| And two times in the yere thy clothinge | |
| Chaunged shuldë be; | |
| |
| ‘And every yere of Robyn Hode | |
| Twenty merke to thy fe;’ | 110 |
| ‘Put up thy swerde,’ saide the coke | |
| ‘And felowes woll we be.’ | |
| |
| Thanne he fet to Lytell Johnn | |
| The nowmbles of a do, | |
| Gode brede and full gode wyne; | 115 |
| They ete and drank theretoo. | |
| |
| And when they had dronkyn well, | |
| Theyre trouthes togeder they plight | |
| That they wolde by with Robyn | |
| That ylkë samë 10 nyght. | 120 |
| |
| They dyd them 11 to the tresoure-hows, | |
| As fast as they myght gone; | |
| The lokkes, that were of full gode stele, | |
| They brake them everichone. | |
| |
| They toke away the silver vessell, | 125 |
| And all that thei might get; | |
| Pecis, 12 masars, 13 ne sponis, | |
| Wolde thei not forget. | |
| |
| Also they toke the gode pens, | |
| Thre hundred pounde and more, | 130 |
| And did them streyte to Robyn Hode, | |
| Under the grene wode hore. | |
| |
| ‘God the save, my dere mayster, | |
| And Criste the save and se!’ | |
| And thanne sayde Robyn to Litell Johnn | 135 |
| ‘Welcome myght thou be. | |
| |
| ‘Also be that fayre yeman | |
| Thou bryngest there with the; | |
| What tydynges fro Notyngham? | |
| Lytill Johnn, tell thou me.’ | 140 |
| |
| ‘Well the gretith the proude sheryf. | |
| And sendeth the here by me | |
| His cok and his silver vessell, | |
| And thre hundred pounde and thre.’ | |
| |
| ‘I make myne avowe to God,’ sayde Robyn, | 145 |
| ‘And to the Trenytë, | |
| It was never by his gode wyll | |
| This gode is come to me.’ | |
| |
| Lytyll Johnn there hym bethought | |
| On a shrewde wyle; 14 | 150 |
| Fyve myle in the forest he ran, | |
| Hym happed all his wyll. 15 | |
| |
| Than he met the proude sheref, | |
| Huntynge with houndes and horne; | |
| Lytell Johnn coude 16 of curtesye, | 155 |
| And knelyd hym beforne. | |
| |
| ‘God the save, my dere mayster, | |
| And Criste the save and se!’ | |
| ‘Reynolde Grenelefe,’ sayde the shyref, | |
| ‘Where hast thou nowe be?’ | 160 |
| |
| ‘I have be in this forest; | |
| A fayre syght can I se; | |
| It was one of the fayrest syghtes | |
| That ever yet sawe I me. | |
| |
| ‘Yonder I sawe a ryght fayre harte, | 165 |
| His coloure is of grene; | |
| Seven score of dere upon a herde | |
| Be with hym all bydene. 17 | |
| |
| ‘Their tyndes 18 are so sharp, maister, | |
| Of sexty, and well mo, | 170 |
| That I durst not shote for drede, | |
| Lest they wolde me slo. 19 | |
| |
| ‘I make myn avowe to God,’ sayde the shyref, | |
| ‘That syght wolde I fayne se’: | |
| ‘Buske you thyderwarde, mi dere mayster, | 175 |
| Anone, and wende with me.’ | |
| |
| The sherif rode, and Litell Johnn | |
| Of fote he was full smerte, | |
| And whane they came before Robyn, | |
| ‘Lo, here is the mayster-herte.’ | 180 |
| |
| Still stode the proude sherief, | |
| A sory man was he; | |
| ‘Wo the worthe, Raynolde Grenelefe, | |
| Thou hast betrayed me.’ | |
| |
| ‘I make myn avowe to God,’ sayde Litell Johnn, | 185 |
| ‘Mayster, ye be to blame; | |
| I was mysserved of my dynere | |
| When I was with you at home.’ | |
| |
| Sone he was to souper sette, | |
| And served with silver white, | 190 |
| And when the sherif sawe his vessell, | |
| For sorowe he myght nat ete. | |
| |
| ‘Make glad chere,’ sayde Robyn Hode, | |
| ‘Sherif, for charitë, | |
| And for the love of Litill Johnn | 195 |
| Thy lyfe I graunt to the.’ | |
| |
| Whan they had souped well, | |
| The day was al gone; | |
| Robyn commaunded Litell Johnn | |
| To drawe of his hose and shone; | 200 |
| |
| His kirtell, and his cote a pye, 20 | |
| That was fured well and fine | |
| And toke hym a grene mantel, | |
| To lap his body therein. | |
| |
| Robyn commaundyd his wight yonge men, | 205 |
| Under the grene wode tree, | |
| They shulde lye in that same sute | |
| That the sherif myght them see. | |
| |
| All nyght lay the proude sherif | |
| In his breche and in his schert; | 210 |
| No wonder it was, in grene wode; | |
| Though his sydes gan to smerte. | |
| |
| ‘Make glad chere,’ sayde Robyn Hode, | |
| ‘Sheref, for charitë | |
| For this is our ordre i-wys | 215 |
| Under the grene-wode tree. | |
| |
| ‘This is harder order,’ sayde the sherief, | |
| ‘Than any ankir 21 or frere; | |
| For all the golde in mery Englonde | |
| I wolde nat longe dwell her.’ | 220 |
| |
| ‘All this twelve monthes,’ sayde Robin, | |
| ‘Thou shalt dwell with me; | |
| I shall the teche, proude sherif, | |
| An outlawe for to be.’ | |
| |
| ‘Or I here another nyght lye,’ sayde the sherif, | 225 |
| ‘Robyn, nowe pray I the, | |
| Smyte of mijn hede rather to-morowe, | |
| And I forgyve it the. | |
| |
| ‘Lat me go,’ than sayde the sherif, | |
| ‘For sayntë charitë, | 230 |
| And I woll be the best frende | |
| That ever yet had ye.’ | |
| |
| ‘Thou shalt swere me an othe,’ sayde Robyn, | |
| ‘On my bright bronde; | |
| Shalt thou never awayte me scathe 22 | 235 |
| By water ne by lande. | |
| |
| ‘And if thou fynde any of my men, | |
| By nyght or by day, | |
| Upon thyn othe thou shalt swere | |
| To helpe them that thou may.’ | 240 |
| |
| Nowe hathe the sherif sworne his othe, | |
| And home he began to gone; | |
| He was as full of grene wode | |
| As ever was hepe 23 of stone. | |
