The woodweele sang, and wold not cease,
Amongst the leaves a lyne ;

And it is by two wight yeomen,

By deare God, that I meane.

'Me thought they did mee beate and binde,

And tooke my bow mee froe;

If I bee Robin a-live in this lande,

I'le be wrocken on both them towe.'

'Sweavens are swift, master,' quoth John, 'As the wind that blowes ore a hill; Ffor if itt be never soe lowde this night, To-morrow it may be still.'

" Buske yee, bowne yee, my merry men all, For John shall goe with mee;

For I'le goe seeke yond wight yeomen

In greenwood where they bee.'

They cast on their gowne of greene,

A shooting gone are they,

Until they came to the merry greenwood,
Where they had gladdest bee;

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There were they ware of a wight yeoman,

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His body leaned to a tree.

A sword and a dagger he wore by his side,
Had beene many a man's bane,

And he was cladd in his capull-hyde,

Topp, and tayle, and mayne.

'Stand you still, master,' quoth Little John,

'Under this trusty tree,

And I will goe to yond wight yeoman,

To know his meaning trulye.'

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'A, John, by me thou setts noe store,
And that's a ffarley thinge;
How offt send I my men beffore,
And tarry my-selfe behinde?

'It is noe cunning a knave to ken,
And a man but heare him speake;
And itt were not for bursting of my bowe,
John, I wold thy head breake.'

But often words they breeden bale,
That parted Robin and John;
John is gone to Barnesdale,

The gates he knowes eche one.

'Yett one shoote I'le shoote,' sayes Little John, 'With Crist his might and mayne;

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I'le make yond fellow that flyes soe fast

To be both glad and ffaine.'

John bent up a good veiwe bow,

And ffettled him to shoote;

The bow was made of a tender boughe,

And fell downe to his foote.

'Woe worth thee, wicked wood,' sayd Little John, 'That ere thou grew on a tree!

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For this day thou art my bale,
My boote when thou shold bee!'

This shoote it was but looselye shott,
The arrowe flew in vaine,

And it mett one of the sheriffes men ;
Good William a Trent was slaine.

It had beene better for William a Trent
To hange upon a gallowe

Then for to lye in the greenwoode,

There slaine with an arrowe.

And it is sayd, when men be mett,
Six can doe mere than three:
And they have tane Little John,

And bound him ffast too a tree.

'Thou shalt be drawen by dale and downe,'

Quothe the sheriffe,

'And hanged hye on a hill:'

'But thou may ffayle,' quoth Little John,

'If itt be Christ's owne will.'

Let us leave talking of Little John,
For hee is bound fast to a tree,

And talke of Guy and Robin Hood

In the greenwoode where they bee.

How these two yeomen together they mett,
Under the leaves of lyne,

To see what marchandise they made

Even at that same time.

'Good morrow, good fellow,' quoth Sir Guy;
'Good morrow, good ffellow,' quothe hee;
'Methinks by this bow thou beares in thy hand,
A good archer thou seems to bee.

'I am wilfull of my way,' quote Sir Guye,

And of my morning tyde:'

'I'le lead thee through the wood,' quoth Robin, 'Good ffellow, I'le be thy guide.'

'I seeke an outlaw,' quoth Sir Guye,

'Men call him Robin Hood;

I had rather meet with him upon a day

Then forty pound of golde.'

'If you tow mett, itt wold be seene whether were bette

'Let us some other masteryes make,

And wee will walke in the woods even;

Wee may chance meet with Robin Hoode

Att some unsett steven.'

They cut them downe the summer shroggs

Which grew both under a bryar,

And sett them three score rood in twinn,

To shoote the prickes full neare.

'Leade on, good ffellow,' sayd Sir Guye,

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The first good shoot that Robin ledd,
Did not shoote an inch the pricke ffroe;

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Guy was an archer good enoughe,

But he cold neere shoote soe.

The second shoote Sir Guy shott,
He shott within the garlande;

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But Robin Hoode shott it better than hee,
For he clove the good pricke-wande.

'God's blessing on thy heart!' sayes Guye,

'Goode ffellow, thy shooting is goode; For an thy hart be as good as thy hands, Thou wert better than Robin Hood.

'Tell me thy name, good ffellow,' quoth Guy, Under the leaves of the lyne :'

'Nay, by my faith,' quoth good Robin,

'Till thou have told me thine.'

'I dwell by dale and downe,' quoth Guye, 'And I have done many a curst turne; And he that calles me by my right name, Calls me Guye of good Gysborne.'

'My dwelling is in the wood,' sayes Robin; 'By thee I set right nought;

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My name is Robin Hood of Barnesdale,
A ffellow thou hast long sought.'

And Guy was quicke and nimble with-all,

And hitt him ore the left side.

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