Robin Hood shot passing well,

Till his arrows all were gane;

They tooke their swords and steele bucklers, They fought with might and maine;

From ten oth' clock that very day,

Till four i'th' afternoon;

Then Robin Hood came to his knees,

Of the fryer to beg a boone.

"A boone, a boone, thou curtall fryer,

I beg it on my knee:

Give me leave to set my horne to my mouth, And to blow blasts three."

"That I will do," said the curtall fryer,
Of thy blasts I have no doubt;

I hope thou'lt blow so passing well,
Till both thy eyes fall out."

Robin Hood set his horne to his mouth,

He blew out blasts three;

Halfe a hundreth yeomen, with bowes bent,

Came raking over the lee.

"Whose men are these," said the fryer,

"That come so hastily?"

"These men are mine," said Robin Hood; "Fryer, what is that to thee?"

"A boone, a boone," said the curtall fryer,
"The like I gave to thee;

Give me leave to set my fist to my mouth,
And to whute whues three."

"That will I doe," said Robin Hood;

"Or else I were to blame;

Three whues in a fryers fist

Would make me glad and faine."

The fryer set his fist to his mouth,

And whuted whues three; Half a hundred good band-dogs Came running over the lee.

"Here's for every man a dog,

And I myselfe for thee:"

"Nay, by my faith," said Robin Hood,

Two dogs at once to Robin Hood did goe,

The one behind, the other before; Robin Hood's mantle of Lincolne greene Off from his backe they tore.

And whether his men shot east or west,
Or they shot north or south,

The curtall dogs, so taught they were,
They kept the arrows in their mouth.

"Take up thy dogs," said Little John, "Fryer, at my bidding be;"

"Whose man art thou," said the curtall fryer, "Comes here to prate with me?"

"I am Little John, Robin Hood's man,

Fryer, I will not lie;

If thou take not up thy dogs soone,

I'le take up them and thee."

Little John had a bow in his hand,
He shot with might and main ;

Soon halfe a score of the fryer's dogs

Lay dead upon the plain.

"Hold thy hand, good fellow," said the curtall fryer,

"Thy master and I will agree;

And we will have new orders taken,

With all the hast may be."

E

1

1

"If thou wilt forsake fair Fountaine's Dale, And Fountaine's Abbey free, Every Sunday throwout the yeere,

A noble shall be thy fee:

And every holliday through the yeere,
Changed shall thy garment be,
If thou wilt goe to faire Nottingham,
And there remaine with me."

The curtall fryer had kept Fountaine's Dale
Seven long yeeres and more;

There was neither knight, lord, nor earle,
Could make him yeeld before.

ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE.

Printed by Percy from his famous manuscript. Gisborne is a market town in the west riding of the county of York, on the borders of Lancashire.

HEN shaws be sheene, † and swards full

fayre,

And leaves both large and longe,

Itt is merrye walkyng in the fayre forrèst

To heare the small birdes' songe.

The woodweele

sang, and wold not cease,

Sitting upon the spraye,

Soe lowde, he wakened Robin Hood,

In the greenwood where he lay.

"Now, by my faye," sayd jollye Robin,
"A sweaven § I had this night;
I dreamt me of two wight yemèn,
That fast with me can fight.

Methought they did mee beate and binde,
And tooke my bowe mee froe;

Iff I be Robin alive in this lande,
Ile be wroken ** on them towe."

"Sweavens are swift, master," quoth John,
"As the wind that blowes ore a hill;
For iff itt be never so loude this night,
To-morrow itt may be still."

* Woods. + Shining.

The thrush. § Dream.

** Revenged.

"Buske yee, bowne yee, my merry men all,

And John shall goe with mee,

For Ile goe seeke yond wight* yeomen,
In greenwood where they bee."

Then they cast on their gownes of grene,
And tooke theyr bowes each one;
And they away to the greene forrèst
A shooting forth are gone;

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

There were they ware of a wight yeoman, His body leaned to a tree.

A sword and a dagger he wore by his side,
Of manye a man the bane;

And he was clad in his capull + hyde,
Topp and tayll and mayne.

"Stand you still, master," quoth Little John, "Under this tree so grene,

And I will go to yond wight yeoman,
To know what he doth meane."

"Ah! John, by me thou settest noe store,
And that I fairley finde :
How offt send I my men beffore,
And tarry my selfe behinde?

It is no cunning a knave to ken,

And a man but heare him speake; And itt were not for bursting of my bowe, John, I thy head wold breake."

As often wordes they breeden bale,
So they parted Robin and John;
And John is gone to Barnesdale ;
The gates he knoweth eche one.

* Strong. + Horsehide. ↑ Mischief. § Ways.