Ballads of Robin Hood and other Outlaws Part 9

The boteler was full uncurteys, There he stode on flore; He start to the botery And shet fast the dore.

160.

Lytell Johnn gave the boteler suche a tap His backe went nere in two; Though he lived an hundred ier, The wors shuld he go.

161.

He sp.o.r.ned the dore with his fote; It went open wel and fyne; And there he made large lyveray, Bothe of ale and of wyne.

162.

'Sith ye wol nat dyne,' sayde Litell John, 'I shall gyve you to drinke; And though ye lyve an hundred wynter, On Lytel Johnn ye shall thinke.'

163.

Litell John ete, and Litel John drank, The while that he wolde; The sherife had in his kechyn a c.o.ke, A stoute man and a bolde.

164.

'I make myn avowe to G.o.d,' said the c.o.ke, 'Thou arte a shrewde hynde In ani hous for to dwel, For to aske thus to dyne.'

165.

And there he lent Litell John G.o.de strokis thre; 'I make myn avowe to G.o.d,' sayde Lytell John, 'These strokis lyked well me.

166.

'Thou arte a bolde man and hardy, And so thinketh me; And or I pas fro this place a.s.sayed better shalt thou be.'

167.

Lytell Johnn drew a ful G.o.de sworde, The c.o.ke took another in hande; They thought no thynge for to fle, But stifly for to stande.

168.

There they faught sore togedere Two myle way and well more; Myght nether other harme done, The mountnaunce of an owre.

169.

'I make myn avowe to G.o.d,' sayde Litell Johnn, 'And by my true lewte; Thou art one of the best sworde-men That ever yit sawe I me.

170.

'Cowdest thou shote as well in a bowe, To grene wode thou shuldest with me, And two times in the yere thy clothinge Chaunged shulde be;

171.

'And every yere of Robyn Hode Twenty merke to thy fe.'

'Put up thy swerde,' saide the c.o.ke, 'And felowes woll we be.'

172.

Thanne he fet to Lytell Johnn The nowmbles of a do, G.o.de brede, and full G.o.de wyne; They ete and drank theretoo.

173.

And when they had dronkyn well, Theyre trouthes togeder they plight That they wolde be with Robyn That ylke same nyght.

174.

They dyd them to the tresoure-hows, As fast as they myght gone; The lokkes, that were of full G.o.de stele, They brake them everichone.

175.

They toke away the silver vessell, And all that thei might get; Pecis, masars, ne sponis, Wolde thei not forget.

176.

Also they toke the G.o.de pens, Thre hundred pounde and more, And did them streyte to Robyn Hode, Under the grene wode h.o.r.e.

177.

'G.o.d thee save, my dere mayster, And Criste thee save and se!'

And thanne sayde Robyn to Litell Johnn, 'Welcome myght thou be.

178.

'Also be that fayre yeman Thou bryngest there with thee; What tydynges fro Notyngham?

Lytill Johnn, tell thou me.'

179.

'Well thee gret.i.th the proude sheryf, And sendeth thee here by me His c.o.ke and his silver vessell, And thre hundred pounde and thre.'

180.

'I make myne avowe to G.o.d,' sayde Robyn, 'And to the Trenyte, It was never by his G.o.de wyll This G.o.de is come to me.'

181.

Lytyll Johnn there hym bethought On a shrewde wyle; Fyve myle in the forest he ran, Hym happed all his wyll.

182.

Than he met the proude sheref, Huntynge with houndes and horne; Lytell Johnn coude of curtesye, And knelyd hym beforne.

183.

'G.o.d thee save, my dere mayster, Ande Criste thee save and se!'

'Reynolde Grenelefe,' sayde the shryef, 'Where hast thou nowe be?'

184.

'I have be in this forest; A fayre syght can I se; It was one of the fayrest syghtes That ever yet sawe I me.

185.

'Yonder I sawe a ryght fayre harte, His coloure is of grene; Seven score of dere upon a herde Be with hym all bydene.

186.

'Their tyndes are so sharp, maister, Of s.e.xty, and well mo, That I durst not shote for drede, Lest they wolde me slo.'

187.

'I make myn avowe to G.o.d,' sayde the shyref, 'That syght wolde I fayne se.'

'Buske you thyderwarde, my dere mayster, Anone, and wende with me.'

188.

The sherif rode, and Litell Johnn Of fote he was full smerte, And whane they came before Robyn, 'Lo, sir, here is the mayster-herte.'

189.

Still stode the proude sherief, A sory man was he; 'Wo the worthe, Raynolde Grenelefe, Thou hast betrayed nowe me.'

190.

'I make myn avowe to G.o.d,' sayde Litell Johnn, 'Mayster, ye be to blame; I was mysserved of my dynere When I was with you at home.'