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shawes beene sheene, and shradds full fayre, And leeues both large and longe, Itt is merrry, walking in the fayre forrest, To heare the small birds songe. The woodweele sang, and wold not cease, Amongst the leaues 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-liue in this lande, I'le be wrocken on both them towe.' 'Sweauens are swift, master,' quoth Iohn, 'As the wind that blowes ore a hill; Ffor if itt be neuer soe lowde this night, To-morrow it may be still.' 'Buske yee, bowne yee, my merry men all, Ffor Iohn shall goe with mee; For I'le goe seeke yond wight yeomen In greenwood where the bee.' Th cast on their gowne of greene, A shooting gone are they, Vntill they came to the merry greenwood, Where they had gladdest bee; There were the ware of [a] wight yeoman, His body leaned to a tree. A sword and a dagger he wore by his side, Had beene many a mans bane, And he was cladd in his capull-hyde, Topp, and tayle, and mayne. 'Stand you still, master,' quoth Litle Iohn, 'Vnder this trusty tree, And I will goe to yond wight yeoman, To know his meaning trulye.' 'A Iohn, by me thou setts noe store, And that's a farley thinge; How offt send I my men beffore, And tarry my-selfe behinde? 'It is noe cunning a knaue to ken, And a man but heare him speake; And itt were not for bursting of my bowe, Iohn, I wolde thy head breake.' But often words they breeden bale, Thatparted Robin and Iohn; Iohn is gone to Barn[e]sdale, The gates he knowes eche one. And when hee came to Barnesdale, Great heauinesse there hee hadd; He found two of his fellowes Were slaine both in a slade, And Scarlett a foote flyinge was, Ouer stockes and stone, For the sheriffe with seuen score men Fast after him is gone. 'Yett one shoote I'le shoote,' sayes Litle Iohn, 'With Crist his might and mayne; I'le make yond fellow that flyes so fast To be both glad and faine. Iohn bent vp a good veiwe bow, And fetteled him to shoote; The bow was made of a tender boughe, And fell downe to his foote. 'Woe worth thee, wicked wood,' sayd Litle Iohn, 'That ere thou grew on a tree! Ffor this day thou art my bale, My boote when thou shold bee!' This shoote it was but loosely 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 vpon 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 more then three: And they haue tane Litle Iohn, And bound him fast to a tree. 'Thou shalt be drawen by dale and downe,' quoth the sheriffe, 'And hanged hye on a hill:' 'But thou may fayle,' quoth Litle Iohn, 'If itt be Christs owne will.' Let vs leaue talking of Litle Iohn, For hee is bound fast to a tree, And talke of Guy and Robin Hood, In the green woode where they bee. How these two yeomen together they mett, Vnder the leaues of lyne, To see what marchandise they made Euen at that same time. 'Good morrow, good fellow,' quoth Sir Guy; 'Good morrow, good fellow,' quoth hee; 'Methinkes by this bow thou beares in thy hand, A good archer thou seems to bee.' 'I am wilfull of my way,' quoth Sir Guye, 'And of my morning tyde:' 'I'le lead thee through the wood,' quoth Robin, 'Good fellow, I'le be thy guide.' 'I seeke an outlaw,' quoth Sir Guye, 'Men call him Robin Hood; I had rather meet with him vpon a day Then forty pound of golde.' 'If you tow mett, itt wold be seene whether were better Afore yee did part awaye; Let vs some other pastime find, Good fellow, I thee pray. Let vs some other masteryes make, And wee will walke in the woods euen; Wee may chance mee[t] with Robin Hoode Att some vnsett steven.' They cutt them downe the summer shroggs Which grew both vnder a bryar, And sett them three score rood on twinn, To shoote the prickes full neare. 'Leade on, good fellow,' sayd Sir Guye, 'Lead on, I doe bidd thee:' 'Nay, by my faith,' quoth Robin Hood, 'The leader thou shalt bee.' The first good shoot that Robin ledd Did not shoote an inch the pricke froe; Guy was an archer good enoughe, But he cold neere shoote soe. The second shoote Sir Guy shott, He shott within the garlande; But Robin Hoode shott it better then hee, For he cloue the good pricke-wande. 'Gods blessing on thy heart!' sayes Guye, 'Goode fellow, thy shooting is goode; For an thy hart be as good as thy hands, Thou were better then Robin Hood.