{"collection":"Northern European Mythology","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/neu/eng/boeb/boeb17.htm","path":"neu/eng/boeb/boeb17.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/neu/eng/boeb/boeb17.htm","text":"WHEN shaws beene sheene, and shradds full fayre,\n \u00a0\u00a0And leaves both large and longe,\n Itt is merrye walkyng in the fayre forr\u00e8st\n \u00a0\u00a0To heare the small birdes songe.\nThe woodweele sang, and wold not cease,\n \u00a0\u00a0Sitting upon the spraye,\n Soe lowde, he wakened Robin Hood,\n \u00a0\u00a0In the greenwood where he lay.\n\"Now, by my faye,\" sayd jollye Robin,\n \u00a0\u00a0\"A sweaven I had this night;\n I dreamt me of tow wighty yemen,\n \u00a0\u00a0That fast with me can fight.\n\"Methought they did mee beate and binde,\n \u00a0\u00a0And tooke my bow mee froe;\n Iff I be Robin alive in this lande,\n \u00a0\u00a0Ile be wroken on them towe.\"\n\"Sweavens are swift, master,\" quoth John,\n \u00a0\u00a0\"As the wind that blowes ore the hill;\n For if itt be never so loude this night,\n \u00a0\u00a0To-morrow it may be still.\"\n\"Buske yee, bowne yee, my merry men all,\n \u00a0\u00a0And John shall goe with mee,\n For Ile goe seeke yond wight yeomen,\n \u00a0\u00a0In greenwood where the bee.\"\nThen they cast on their gownes of grene,\n \u00a0\u00a0And tooke theyr bowes each one;\n And they away to the greene forr\u00e8st\n \u00a0\u00a0A shooting forth are gone;\nUntill they came to the merry greenwood,\n \u00a0\u00a0Where they had gladdest to bee;\n There were they ware of a wight yeom\u00e0n,\n \u00a0\u00a0His body leaned to a tree.\nA sword and a dagger he wore by his side,\n \u00a0\u00a0Of manye a man the bane;\n And he was clad in his capull hyde,\n \u00a0\u00a0Topp and tayll and mayne.\n\"Stand you still, master,\" quoth Little John,\n \u00a0\u00a0\"Under this tree so grene,\n And I will go to yond wight yeom\u00e0n\n \u00a0\u00a0To know what he doth meane.\"\n\"Ah! John, by me thou settest noe store,\n \u00a0\u00a0And that I farley finde:\n How offt send I my men beffore,\n \u00a0\u00a0And tarry my selfe behinde!\n\"It is no cunning a knave to ken,\n \u00a0\u00a0And a man but heare him speake;\n And itt were not for bursting of my bowe,\n \u00a0\u00a0John, I thy head wold breake.\"\nAs often wordes they breeden bale,\n \u00a0\u00a0So they parted Robin and John;\n And John is gone to Barnesdale;\n \u00a0\u00a0The gates he knoweth eche one.\nBut when he came to Barnesdale,\n \u00a0\u00a0Great heavinesse there hee hadd,\n For he found tow of his owne fell\u00f2wes\n \u00a0\u00a0Were slaine both in a slade.\nAnd Scarlette he was flying a-foote\n \u00a0\u00a0Faste over stocke and stone,\n For the sheriffe with seven score men\n \u00a0\u00a0Fast after him is gone.\n\"One shoote now I will shoote,\" quoth John,\n \u00a0\u00a0\"With Christ his might and mayne;\n Ile make yond fellow that flyes soe fast,\n \u00a0\u00a0To stopp he shall be fayne.\"\nThen John bent up his long bende-bowe,\n \u00a0\u00a0And fetteled him to shoote:\n The bow was made of tender boughe,\n \u00a0\u00a0And fell down to his foote.\n\"Woe worth, woe worth thee, wicked wood,\n \u00a0\u00a0That ere thou grew on a tree;\n For now this day thou art my bale,\n \u00a0\u00a0My boote when thou shold bee.\"\nHis shoote it was but loosely shott,\n \u00a0\u00a0Yet flewe not the arrowe in vaine,\n For itt mett one of the sherriffes men,\n \u00a0\u00a0Good William a Trent was slaine.\nIt had bene better of William a Trent\n \u00a0\u00a0To have bene abed with sorrowe,\n Than to be that day in the green-wood slade\n \u00a0\u00a0To meet with Little Johns arrowe.\nBut as it is said, when men be mett\n \u00a0\u00a0Fyve can doe more than three,\n The sheriffe hath taken Little John,\n \u00a0\u00a0And bound him fast to a tree.\n\"Thou shalt be drawen by dale and downe,\n \u00a0\u00a0And hanged hye on a hill;\"\n But thou mayst fayle of thy purpose,\" quoth John,\n \u00a0\u00a0If itt be Christ his will.\"\nLett us leave talking of Little John,\n \u00a0\u00a0And thinke of Robin Hood,\n How he is gone to the wight yeom\u00e0n,\n \u00a0\u00a0Where under the leaves he stood.\n\"Good morrowe, good fellowe,\" sayd Robin so fayre,\n \u00a0\u00a0\"Good morrowe, good fellow,\" quoth he.\n \"Methinks by this bowe thou beares in thy hande,\n \u00a0\u00a0A good archere thou sholdst bee.\"\n\"I am wilfulle of my waye,\" quo' the yeoman,\n \u00a0\u00a0\"And of my morning tyde:\"\n \"Ile lead thee through the wood,\" sayd Robin,\n \u00a0\u00a0\"Good fellow, Ile be thy guide.\"\n\"I seeke an outl\u00e0we,\" the straunger sayd,\n \u00a0\u00a0\"Men call him Robin Hood;\n Rather Ild meet with that proud outl\u00e0we\n \u00a0\u00a0Than fortye pound soe good.\"\n\"Now come with me, thou wight yem\u00e0n,\n \u00a0\u00a0And Robin thou soone shalt see;\n But first let us some pastime find\n \u00a0\u00a0Under the greenwood tree.\n\"First let us some masterye make\n \u00a0\u00a0Among the woods so even;\n We may chance to meet with Robin Hood\n \u00a0\u00a0Here att some unsett steven.\"\nThey cutt them down two summer shroggs,\n \u00a0\u00a0That grew both under a breere,\n And set them threescore rood in twaine,\n \u00a0\u00a0To shoote the prickes y-fere.\n\"Leade on, good fellowe,\" quoth Robin Hood,\n \u00a0\u00a0\"Leade on, I doe bidd thee.\"\n \"Nay, by my faith, good fellowe,\" hee sayd,\n \u00a0\u00a0\"My leader thou shalt bee.\"\nThe first time Robin shot at the pricke,\n \u00a0\u00a0He mist but an inch it fro;\n The yeoman he was an archer good,\n \u00a0\u00a0But he cold never shoote soe.\nThe second shoote had the wightye yeom\u00e0n,\n \u00a0\u00a0He shote within the garl\u00e0nde;\n But Robin he shott far better than hee,\n \u00a0\u00a0For he clave the good pricke-wande.\nA blessing upon thy heart,\" he sayd,\n \u00a0\u00a0\"Good fellowe, thy shooting is goode\n For an thy hart be as good as thy hand,\n \u00a0\u00a0Thou wert better then Robin Hoode.\nNow tell me thy name, good fellowe,\" sayd he,\n \u00a0\u00a0\"Under the leaves of lyne.\"\n Nay, by my faith,\" quoth bolde Robin,\n \u00a0\u00a0\"Till thou have told me thine.\"\n\"I dwell by dale and downe,\" quoth hee,\n \u00a0\u00a0\"And Robin to take Ime sworne;\n And when I am called by my right name,\n \u00a0\u00a0I am Guy of good Gisb\u00f2rne.\"\n\"My dwelling is in this wood,\" sayes Robin,\n \u00a0\u00a0\"By thee I set right nought:\n I am Robin Hood of Barn\u00e8sdale,\n \u00a0\u00a0Whom thou so long hast sought.\"\nHe that had neither beene kithe nor kin,\n \u00a0\u00a0Might have seen a full fayre sight,\n To see how together these yeomen went\n \u00a0\u00a0With blades both browne and bright:\nTo see how these yeomen together they fought\n \u00a0\u00a0Two howres of a summers day,\n Yett neither Robin Hood nor Sir Guy\n \u00a0\u00a0Them fettled to flye away.\nRobin was reachles on a roote,\n \u00a0\u00a0And stumbled at that tyde;\n And Guy was quicke and nimble with-all,\n \u00a0\u00a0And hitt him ore the left side.\n\"Ah, deere Lady,\" sayd Robin Hood tho,\n \u00a0\u00a0\"Thou art but mother and may';\n I think it was never mans destinye\n \u00a0\u00a0To dye before his day.\"\nRobin thought on Our Ladye deere,\n \u00a0\u00a0And soone leapt up againe,\n And strait he came with a 'backward' stroke,\n \u00a0\u00a0And he Sir Guy hath slayne.\nHe took Sir Guy's head by the hayre,\n \u00a0\u00a0And stuck itt upon his bowes end:\n \"Thou hast beene a traytor all thy liffe,\n \u00a0\u00a0Which thing must have an end.\"\nRobin pulled forth an Irish kniffe,\n \u00a0\u00a0And nicked Sir Guy in the face,\n That he was never on woman born\n \u00a0\u00a0Cold tell whose head it was.\nSayes, \"Lye there, lye there now, Sir Guy,\n \u00a0\u00a0And with me be not wrothe;\n Iff thou have had the worst strokes at my hand,\n \u00a0\u00a0Thou shalt have the better clothe.\"\nRobin did off his gowne of greene,\n \u00a0\u00a0And on Sir Guy did throwe,\n And hee put on that capull hyde,\n \u00a0\u00a0That cladd him topp to toe.\n\"The bowe, the arrowes, and litle horne,\n \u00a0\u00a0Now with me I will beare;\n For I will away to Barn\u00e8sdale,\n \u00a0\u00a0To see how my men doe fare.\"\nRobin Hood sett Guy's horne to his mouth,\n \u00a0\u00a0And a loud blast in it did blow:\n That beheard the sheriffe of Nottingham,\n \u00a0\u00a0As he leaned under a lowe.\nHearken, hearken,\" sayd the sheriffe,\n \u00a0\u00a0\"I heare nowe tydings good,\n For yonder I heare Sir Guy's horne blowe,\n \u00a0\u00a0And he hath slaine Robin Hoode.\n\"Yonder I heare Sir Guy's horne blowe,\n \u00a0\u00a0Itt blowes soe well in tyde,\n And yonder comes that wightye yeom\u00e0n,\n \u00a0\u00a0Cladd in his capull hyde.\n\"Come hyther, come hyther, thou good Sir Guy,\n \u00a0\u00a0Aske what thou wilt of mee.\"\n \"O I will none of thy gold,\" sayd Robin,\n \u00a0\u00a0\"Nor I will none of thy fee.\n\"But now I have slaine the master,\" he sayes,\n \u00a0\u00a0\"Let me goe strike the knave;\n For this is all the rewarde I aske.\n \u00a0\u00a0Nor noe other will I have.\"\n\"Thou art a madman,\" said the sheriffe,\n \u00a0\u00a0\"Thou sholdst have had a knightes fee;\n But seeing thy asking hath beene soe bad,\n \u00a0\u00a0Well granted it shale be.\"\nWhen Little John heard his master speake,\n \u00a0\u00a0Well knewe he it was his steven;\n Now shall I be looset,\" quoth Little John,\n \u00a0\u00a0With Christ his might in heaven.\"\nFast Robin hee hyed him to Little John,\n \u00a0\u00a0He thought to loose him belive:\n The sheriffe and all his companye\n \u00a0\u00a0Fast after him can drive.\n\"Stand abacke, stand abacke,\" sayd Robin;\n \u00a0\u00a0\"Why draw you mee so neere?\n Itt was never the use in our country\u00e8,\n \u00a0\u00a0Ones shrift another shold heere.\"\nBut Robin pulled forth an Irysh knife,\n \u00a0\u00a0And losed John hand and foote,\n And gave him Sir Guy's bow into his hand,\n \u00a0\u00a0And bade it be his boote.\nThen John he took Guy's bow in his hand,\n \u00a0\u00a0His boltes and arrowes eche one:\n When the sheriffe saw Little John bend his bow,\n \u00a0\u00a0He fettled him to be gone.\nTowards his house in Nottingham towne\n \u00a0\u00a0He fled full fast away,\n And soe did all the companye,\n \u00a0\u00a0Not one behind wold stay.\nBut he cold neither runne soe fast,\n \u00a0\u00a0Nor away soe fast cold ryde,\n But Little John with an arrowe soe broad\n \u00a0\u00a0He shott him into the 'backe'-syde.","title":"A Book of Old English Ballads: Robin Hood and Guy of Gisb...","type":"page"}