The Ballads and Songs of Yorkshire. Various

to bee,

      There they were ware of a wighty yeoman,

      That leaned agaynst 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[22] hyde

      Topp and tayll and mayne.

      "Stand still, master," quoth Little John,

      "Under this tree so grene,

      And I will go to yond wighty yeoman,

      To know what he doth meane."

      "Ah! John, by me thou settest noe store,

      And that I farly finde:

      How often send I my men before,

      And tarry my selfe behinde?

      "It is no cunning a knave to ken,

      And a man but heare him speake;

      And it were not for bursting of my bowe,

      John, I thy head wold breake."

      As often wordes they breeden bale,[23]

      So they parted Robin and John:

      And John is gone to Barnesdale;

      The gates[24] he knoweth eche one.

      But when he came to Barnesdale,

      Great heavinesse there he hadd,

      For he found tow of his own fellowes

      Were slaine both in a slade.[25]

      And Scarlette he was flying a-foote

      Fast over stocke and stone,

      For the proud sheriffe with seven score men

      Fast after him is gone.

      "One shoote now I will shoote," quoth John,

      "With Christ his might and mayne;

      Ile make yond sheriffe that wends soe fast,

      To stopp he shall be fayne."

      Then John bent up his long bende-bowe,

      And fettled him to shoote:

      The bowe was made of tender boughe,

      And fell downe at his foote.

      "Woe worth, woe worth thee, wicked wood,

      That ever thou grew on a tree!

      For now this day thou art my bale,[26]

      My boote when thou shold bee."

      His shoote it was but loosely shott,

      Yet flewe not the arrowe in vaine,

      For itt mett one of the sheriffe's men,

      And William a Trent was slaine.

      It had been better of William a Trent

      To have beene abed with sorrowe,

      Than to be that day in the greenwood slade

      To meet with Little John's arrowe.

      But as it is said, when men be mett

      Fyve can doe more than three,

      The sheriffe hath taken Little John,

      And bound him fast to a tree.

      "Thou shalt be drawen by dale and downe,

      And hanged hye on a hill."

      "But thou mayst fayle of thy purpose," quoth John,

      "If it be Christ his will."

      Lett us leave talking of Little John,

      And thinke of Robin Hood,

      How he is gone to the wight yeoman,

      Where under the leaves he stood.

      "Good morrowe, good fellowe," sayd Robin so fayre,

      "Good morrowe, good fellow," quo' he:

      "Methinkes by this bowe thou beares in thy hande,

      A good archere thou sholdst bee."

      "I am wilfulle of my waye," quo' the yeman,

      "And of my morning tyde."

      "Ile lead thee through the wood," sayd Robin;

      "Good fellow, Ile be thy guide."

      "I seeke an outlawe," the straunger sayd,

      "Men call him Robin Hood;

      Rather Ild meet with that proud outlawe,

      Than fortye pound soe good."

      "Now come with me, thou wighty yeman,

      And Robin thou soone shalt see:

      But first let us some pastime find

      Under the greenwood tree.

      "First let us some masterye make

      Among the woods so even,

      We may chance to meet with Robin Hood,

      Here at some unsett steven."[27]

      They cut them down two summer shroggs,[28]

      That grew both under a breere,

      And sett them threescore rood in twaine,

      To shoote the prickes y-fere.[29]

      "Leade on, good fellowe," quoth Robin Hood,

      "Leade on, I do bidd thee."

      "Nay, by my faith, good fellowe," hee sayd,

      "My leader thou shalt bee."

      The first time Robin shot at the pricke,

      He mist but an inch it fro;

      The yeoman he was an archer good,

      But he cold never do soe.

      The second shoote had the wighty yeman,

      He shot within the garland:

      But Robin he shott far better than hee,

      For he clave the good pricke-wande.

      "A blessing upon thy heart," he sayd,

      "Good fellowe, thy shooting is goode;

      For an thy hart be as good as thy hand,

      Thou wert better than Robin Hood.

      "Now tell me thy name, good fellowe," sayd he,

      "Under the leaves of lyne."

      "Nay, by my faith," quoth bold Robin,

      "Till thou have told me thine."

      "I dwell by dale and downe," quoth hee,

      "And Robin to take I am sworne;

      And when I am called by my right name

      I am Guy of good Gisborne."

      "My dwelling is in the wood," says Robin,

      "By thee I set right nought:

      I am Robin Hood of Barnesdale,

      Whom thou so long hast sought."

      He that had neyther beene kythe nor kin,

      Might have seen a full fayre fight,

      To see how together these yeomen went,

      With blades both browne and bright.

      To see how these