The butler was full uncurteys, There he stode on flore; He sterte to the buttery, And shet fast the dore.
Lytell Johan gave the buteler such a rap, 65 His backe yede nygh on two; Tho he lyved an hundreth wynter, The wors he sholde go.
He sporned the dore with his fote, It went up wel and fyne,[L70] 70 And there he made a large lyveray Both of ale and wyne.
"Syth ye wyl not dyne," sayd Lytel Johan, "I shall gyve you to drynke, And though ye lyve an hondred wynter, 75 On Lytell Johan ye shall thynk."
Lytell Johan ete, and Lytell [Johan] dronke, The whyle that he wolde; The sheryfe had in hys kechyn a coke, A stoute man and a bolde. 80
"I make myn avowe to god," sayd the coke, "Thou arte a shrewde hynde, In an householde to dwel, For to ask thus to dyne."
And there he lent Lytel Johan 85 Good strokes thre; "I make myn avowe," said Lytell Johan, "These strokes lyketh well me.
"Thou arte a bolde man and an hardy And so thynketh me; 90 And or I passe fro this place, Asayed better shalt thou be."
Lytell Johan drewe a good swerde, The coke toke another in honde; They thought nothynge for to fle, 95 But styfly for to stonde.
There they fought sore togyder, Two myle way and more; Myght neyther other harme done, The mountenaunce of an houre. 100
"I make myn avowe to god," sayd Lytell Johan, "And be my trewe lewte, Thou art one of the best swerdemen, That ever yet sawe I me.
"Coowdest thou shote as well in a bowe, 105 To grene wood thou sholdest with me, And two tymes in the yere thy clothynge Ichaunged sholde be;
"And every yere of Robyn Hode Twenty marke to thy fee:" 110 "Put up thy swerde," sayd the coke, "And felowes wyll we be."
Then he fette to Lytell Johan The numbles of a doo, Good brede and full good wyne; 115 They ete and dranke therto.
And whan they had dronken well, Ther trouthes togyder they plyght, That they wolde be with Robyn That ylke same day at nyght. 120
They dyde them to the tresure-hous,[L121]
As fast as they myght gone; The lockes, that were of good stele, They brake them everychone.
They toke away the sylver vessell, 125 And all that they myght get, Peces, masars, and spones Wolde they non forgete.
Also they toke the good pence, Thre hondred pounde and three, 130 And dyde them strayt to Robyn Hode, Under the grene wode tre.
"God the save, my dere mayster, And Cryst the save and se;"
And than sayd Robyn to Lytell Johan, 135 "Welcome myght thou be;
"And also be that fayre yeman Thou bryngest there with the.
What tydynges fro Notyngham?
Lytell Johan, tell thou me." 140
"Well the greteth the proude sheryfe, And sende the here by me His coke and his sylver vessell, And thre hondred pounde and thre."
"I make myn avow to god," sayd Robyn, 145 "And to the trenyte, It was never by his good wyll This good is come to me."
Lytell Johan hym there bethought On a shrewed wyle;[L150] 150 Fyve myle in the forest he ran, Hym happed at his wyll.
Than he met the proud sheryf, Huntynge with hounde and horne; Lytell Johan coud his curteysye, 155 And kneled hym beforne.
"God the save, my dere mayster, And Cryst the save and se;"
"Raynolde Grenelefe," sayd the sheryfe, "Where hast thou nowe be?" 160
"I have be in this forest, A fayre syght can I se; It was one of the fayrest syghtes[L163]
That ever yet sawe I me.
"Yonder I se a ryght fayre hart, 165 His coloure is of grene; Seven score of dere upon an herde Be with hym all bedene.
"His tynde are so sharp, mayster, Of sexty and well mo, 170 That I durst not shote for drede Lest they wolde me sloo."
"I make myn avowe to god," sayd the sheryf, "That syght wolde I fayn se;"
"Buske you thyderwarde, my dere mayster, 175 Anone, and wende with me."
The sheryfe rode, and Lytell Johan Of fote he was full smarte; And when they came afore Robyn, "Lo, here is the mayster harte!" 180
Styll stode the proud sheryf, A sory man was he: "Wo worthe the, Raynolde Grenelefe![L183]
Thou hast now betrayed me."
"I make myn avowe to god," sayd Lytell Johan, 185 "Mayster, ye be to blame, I was mysserved of my dynere, When I was with you at hame."
Soone he was to super sette, And served with sylver whyte; 190 And whan the sheryf se his vessell, For sorowe he myght not ete.
"Make good chere," sayd Robyn Hode, "Sheryfe, for charyte, And for the love of Lytell Johan, 195 Thy lyfe is graunted to the."
When they had supped well, The day was all agone, Robyn commaunded Lytell Johan To drawe of his hosen and his shone, 200
His kyrtell and his cote-a-pye, That was furred well fyne, And take him a grene mantell, To lappe his body therin.
Robyn commaunded his wyght young men, 205 Under the grene wood tre, They shall lay in that same sorte, That the sheryf myght them se.
All nyght laye that proud sheryf In his breche and in his sherte; 210 No wonder--it was in grene wode,-- Tho his sydes do smerte.
"Make glad chere," sayd Robyn Hode, "Sheryfe, for charyte, For this is our order i-wys, 215 Under the grene wood tre."
"This is harder order," sayd the sheryfe, "Than ony anker or frere; For al the golde in mery Englonde, I wolde not longe dwell here." 220
"All these twelve monethes," sayd Robyn, "Thou shalte dwell with me; I shall the teche, proud sheryfe, An outlawe for to be."
"Or I here another nyght lye," sayd the sheryfe, 225 "Robyn, nowe I pray the, Smyte of my hede rather to-morne, And I forgyve it the.
"Lete me go," then sayd the sheryf, "For saynt Charyte, 230 And I wyll be the best frende That ever yet had ye."[L232]
"Thou shalte swere me an othe," sayd Robyn, "On my bryght bronde, Thou shalt never awayte me scathe, 235 By water ne by londe;
"And if thou fynde ony of my men, By nyght or by day, Upon thyne othe thou shalt swere To helpe them that thou may." 240
Now hathe the sheryf iswore his othe,[L241]
And home he began to gone; He was as full of grene wode As ever was hepe of stone.