Grete well your abbot, sayd Robyn, And your pryour, I you pray, And byd hym send me such a monke, To dyner every day.
Now lete we that monke be styll, And speke we of that knyght, Yet he came to holde his day Whyle that it was lyght.
He dyde hym streyt to Bernysdale, Under the grene wode tre, And he founde there Robyn Hode, And all his mery meynè.
The knyght lyght downe of his good palfrày, Robyn whan he gan see, So curteysly he dyde adoune his hode, And set hym on his knee.
“God the save, good Robyn Hode, And al this company.” “Welcome be thou, gentyll knyght, And ryght welcome to me.”
Than bespake hym Robyn Hode, To that knyght so fre, What nede dryveth the to grene wode ? I pray the, syr knyght, tell me. { 48}
And welcome be thou, gentyl knyght, Why hast thou be so longe ? “For the abbot and the hye justyce Wolde have had my londe.”
Hast thou thy lond agayne ?[171] sayd Robyn, Treuth than tell thou me. Ye, for god, sayd the knyght, And that thanke I god and the.
But take not a grefe, I have be so longe ;[172] I came by a wrastelynge And there I dyd holpe a pore yemàn, With wronge was put behynde.
Nay, for god, sayd Robyn, Syr knyght, that thanke I the ; What man that helpeth a good yemàn, His frende than wyll I be.
Have here foure hondred pounde, than sayd the knyght, The whiche ye lent to me ; And here is also twenty marke For your curteysy.
Nay, for god, than sayd Robyn, Thou broke it well for ay, For our lady, by her selerer, Hath sent to me my pay ;
And yf I toke it twyse,[173] A shame it were to me : But trewely, gentyll knyght, Welcom arte thou to me.
Whan Robyn had tolde his tale, He leugh and had good chere. By my trouthe, then sayd the knyght, Your money is redy here.
Broke it well, sayd Robyn, Thou gentyll knyght so fre ; And welcome be thou, gentill knyght, Under my trystell[174] tree.
But what shall these bowes do ? sayd Robyn, And these arowes ifedered fre ? By god, than sayd the knyght, A pore present to the.
“Come now forth, Lytell Johan, And go to my treasurè, And brynge me there foure hondred pounde, The monke over-tolde it me.
Have here foure hondred pounde, Thou gentyll knyght and trewe, And bye hors and harnes good, And gylte thy spores all newe : { 50}
And yf thou fayle ony spendynge, Com to Robyn Hode, And by my trouth thou shalt none fayle The whyles I have any good.