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and listin, gentilmen, That be of frebore blode; I shall you tel of a gode yeman, His name was Robyn Hode. Robyn was a prude outlaw, [Whyles he walked on grounde; So curteyse an outlawe] as he was one Was never non founde. Robyn stode in Bernesdale, And lenyd hym to a tre; And bi hym stode Litell Johnn, A gode yeman was he. And alsoo dyd gode Scarlok, And Much, the miller's son; There was none ynch of his bodi But it was worth a grome. Than bespake Lytell Johnn All vntoo Robyn Hode: Maister, and ye wolde dyne betyme It wolde doo you moche gode. Than bespake hym gode Robyn: To dyne haue I noo lust, Till that I haue som bolde baron, Or som vnkouth gest. . . . . . . . That may pay for the best, Or som knyght or [som] squyer, That dwelleth here bi west. A gode maner than had Robyn; In londe where that he were, Euery day or he wold dyne Thre messis wolde he here. The one in the worship of the Fader, And another of the Holy Gost, The thirde of Our der Lady, That he loued allther moste. Robyn loued Oure der Lady; For dout of dydly synne, Wolde he neuer do compani harme That any woman was in. 'Maistar,' than sayde Lytil Johnn, 'And we our borde shal sprede, Tell vs wheder that we shal go, And what life that we shall lede. 'Where we shall take, where we shall leue, Where we shall abide behynde; Where we shall robbe, where we shal reue, Where we shal bete and bynde.' 'Therof no force,' than sayde Robyn; 'We shall do well inowe; But loke ye do no husbonde harme, That tilleth with his ploughe. 'No more ye shall no gode yeman That walketh by gren -wode shawe; Ne no knyght ne no squyer That wol be a gode felawe. 'These bisshoppes and these archebishoppes, Ye shall them bete and bynde; The hy sherif of Notyingham, Hym holde ye in your mynde.' 'This worde shalbe holde,' sayde Lytell Johnn, 'And this lesson we shall lere; It is fer dayes ; God sende vs a gest, That we were at oure dynere!' 'Take thy gode bowe in thy honde,' sayde Rob[yn]; 'Late Much wende with the; And so shal Willyam Scarlo[k], And no man abyde with me. 'And walke vp to the Saylis, And so to Watlingr Stret[e], And wayte after some vnkuth gest, Vp chaunce ye may them mete. 'Be he erle, or ani baron, Abbot, or ani knyght, Bringhe hym to lodge to me; His dyner shall be dight.' They wente vp to the Saylis, These yeman all thre; They loked est, they loke[d] weest; They myght no man see. But as they loked in to Bernysdale, Bi a dern strete, Than came a knyght ridinghe; Full sone they gan hym mete. All dreri was his semblaunce, And lytell was his pryde; His one fote in the styrop stode, That othere wauyd beside. His hode hanged in his iyn two; He rode in symple aray; A soriar man than he was one Rode neuer in somer day. Litell Johnn was full curteyes, And sette hym on his kne: 'Welcom be ye, gentyll knyght, Welcom ar ye to me. 'Welcom be thou to gren wode, Hend knyght and fre; My maister hath abiden you fastinge, Syr, al these our s thre.' 'Who is thy maister?' sayde the knyght; Johnn sayde, Robyn Hode; 'He is [a] gode yoman,' sayde the knyght, 'Of hym haue I herde moche gode. 'I graunte,' he sayde, 'with you to wende, My bretherne, all in fere; My purpos was to haue dyned to day At Blith or Dancastere.' Furth than went this gentyl knight, With a carefull chere; The teris oute of his iyen ran, And fell downe by his lere. They brought hym to the lodg -dore; Whan Robyn hym gan see, Full curtesly dyd of his hode And sette hym on his knee. 'Welcome, sir knight,' than sayde Robyn, 'Welcome art thou to me; I haue abyden you fastinge, sir, All these ouris thre.' Than answered the gentyll knight, With word s fayre and fre; God the saue, goode Robyn, And all thy fayre meyn . They wasshed togeder and wyped bothe, And sette to theyr dynere; Brede and wyne they had right ynoughe, And noumbles of the dere. Swannes and fessauntes they had full gode, And foules of the ryuere; There fayled none so litell a birde That euer was bred on bryre. 'Do gladly, sir knight,' sayde Robyn; 'Gramarcy, sir,' sayde he; 'Suche a dinere had I nat Of all these wekys thre. 'If I come ageyne, Robyn, Here by thys contr , As gode a dyner I shall the make As that thou haest made to me.' 'Gramarcy, knyght,' sayde Robyn; 'My dyner whan that I it haue, I was neuer so gredy, bi dere worthy God, My dyner for to craue. 'But pay or ye wende,' sayde Robyn; 'Me thynketh it is gode ryght; It was neuer the maner, by dere worthi God, A yoman to pay for a knyhht.' 'I haue nought in my coffers,' saide the knyght, 'That I may profer for shame:' 'Litell Johnn, go loke,' sayde Robyn, 'Ne let nat for no blame.