This story’s pretty good.
It’s all about a bold outlaw,
His name was Robin Hood.
Robin was a wise outlaw.
While he walked on ground,
So courteous an outlaw
Was seldom ever found.
Robin stood in the greenwood
And leaned against a tree,
And by him stood Little John,
A good yeoman was he.
And also did good Scarlett,
And Much, the miller’s son.
Every inch of his body
Was worthy of a man.
Then spoke Little John
All unto Robin Hood,
“Master, if you would dine soon
It’d do ye a lot of good.”
Then spoke good Robin,
“To dine I have no wish,
Til I have some bold baron
Or some unknown guest.
“Til I have some wealthy abbot
That can pay for the best,
Or some knight or some squire
That lives here in the west.”
Good habits then had Robin
In the land where he stayed.
Everyday before he ate
Three prayers would he say.
The one in the worship of the Father,
And another of the Holy Ghost,
The third of Our Dear Lady
That he loved the most.
Robin loved Our Dear Lady.
For fear of deadly sin,
He never would do company harm
That any woman was in.
“Master,” then said Little John,
“If we’re to spread the board,
Tell us where we shall go
And what we can afford.
“Where we shall take, where we shall leave,
Where we shall stay behind.
Where we shall rob, where we shall kill,
Where we shall beat and bind.”
“Not so much force,” said Robin.
“We’ll get enough somehow.
But see that ye do no husband harm
That tills with his plough.
“Nor any good yeoman
That walks by greenwood hollow.
Nor any knight or squire
That will be a good fellow.
“These bishops and these archbishops,
Them shall ye beat and bind.
The high sheriff of Nottingham,
Him hold ye in your mind.”
“This word shall hold,” said Little John,
“And this lesson we shall remember.
It’s late in the day, God send us a guest
So we can get to our dinner.”
“Take thy good bow in thy hand,” said Robin.
“Let Much go with thee.
And also William Scarlett,
And no man stay with me.
“And walk up to the Saylis
And down to Watling Street,
And wait for some unknown guest
That you may chance to meet.
“And be he earl or baron,
Abbot or knight or squire,
Bring him to me at the greenwood tree.
His dinner shall be on the fire.”
They went up to the Saylis,
These yeomen all three.
They looked east, they looked west,
No man did they see.
But as they looked into the greenwood,
By a dark street,
There came a knight riding.
Him they soon did meet.
All dreary was his countenance,
And little was his pride.
His one foot in the stirrup stood,
The other hung beside.
His hood hung over his eyes.
He rode in simple array.
A sorrier man than he was
Rode never on summer day.
Little John was full courteous
And got down on his knee.
“Welcome be ye, gentle knight,
Welcome are ye to me.
“Welcome be thou to the greenwood,
Young fellow, knight and free.
My master waits for you fasting, sir,
All these hours three.”
“Who is thy master?” said the knight.
John said, “Robin Hood.”
“He’s a good yeoman,” said the knight.
“Of him I’ve heard much good.
“I grant,” said he, “to go with you,
My brothers, all together.
Though I had planned to dine today
At Blythe or Duncaster.”
Forth then went this gentle knight
In a sorrowful state.
The tears ran out of his eyes
And fell down by his face.
They brought him to the lodge door.
When Robin did him see,
Full courteously he took off his hood
And got down on his knee.
“Welcome, sir knight,” said Robin.
“Welcome art thou to me.
I’ve waited for you fasting, sir,
All these hours three.”
Then answered the gentle knight
With words fair and free,
“God save thee, good Robin,
And all thy merry company.”
They washed together and wiped off
And sat down to their dinner.
Bread and wine they had plenty of,
And the best parts of the deer.
Swans and pheasants they had full good
And fowls of the river.
They didn’t leave out any little bird
That ever was bred on briar.
“Eat up, sir knight,” said Robin.
“Thank you, sir,” said he.
“I haven’t had such a dinner
In all these weeks three.
“If ever I come again, Robin,
Here by this country,
As good a dinner I’ll make for thee
As thou hast made for me.”
“Thank you, knight,” said Robin,
“For my dinner, whenever I have it.
I was never so greedy, by dear worthy God.
Food, I can take it or leave it.
“But pay ere ye go,” said Robin.
“I think it’s good and right.
It was never the manner, by dear worthy God,
A yeoman to pay for a knight.”
“I have nothing in my trunk,” said the knight,
“That I may offer, for shame.”
“Little John, go look,” said Robin.
“And don’t leave out anything.”
“Tell me the truth,” said Robin,
“So God will have pity on thee.”
“I have no more than ten shillings,” said the knight.
“So God have pity on me."
“If thou hast no more,” said Robin,
“I will not touch one penny.
And if you have need of any more,
More shall I lend thee.
“Go forth now, Little John,
And bring the truth to me.
If there be no more than ten shillings,
Not a penny shall I see.”
Little John spread his mantle out
Full fair upon the ground,
And there he found in the knight’s trunk
Only half a pound.
Little John let it lie full still
And went to his master low.
“What tidings, John?” said Robin.
“Sir, the knight is true enough.”
“Pour out the best wine,” said Robin.
“The knight shall begin.
No wonder, it seems to me,
Thy clothing is so thin.
“Tell me one word,” said Robin.
“It’ll go no further than me.
I think you were made a knight of nothing,
Or else of yeomanry.
“Or else you’ve been a sorry husband
And lived in trouble and strife.
A usurer or a lecher,” said Robin.
With wrong you’ve led your life.”
“I’m none of those, by God that made me,”
Said this gentle knight.
“A hundred winters here before
My ancestors have been knights.
“But often it has happened, Robin,
A man has been disgraced.
But God that sits in Heaven above
May amend his state.
“Within these two years, Robin,” he said,
“My neighbors know it well,
Four hundred pounds of good money I spent,
Not all of it on myself.
“Now I have no goods,” said the knight.
“God has so arranged it.
Just my children and my wife,
Til God decides to change it.”
“In what manner,” then said Robin,
“Have you lost your riches?”
“For my great folly,” he said,
“And my little kindnesses.
“I have a son, Robin,
That should have been my heir.
When he was twenty winters old
In field he would joust full fair.
“He slew a knight of Lancaster
And a squire bold,
So to save him in his right,
My goods I gathered and sold.
“My lands I mortgaged, Robin,
Until a certain day,
To a wealthy abbot who lives near here
In Saint Mary’s Abbey.”
“What is the sum?” said Robin.
“How much do you owe?”
“Sir,” he said, “four hundred pounds.
The abbot wants his loan.”
“And if you lose your land,” said Robin,
“What will happen to thee?”
“Hastily I will hurry,” said the knight,
“Over the salty sea,
“And see where Christ lived and died
On the mount of Calvary.
Farewell, friend, and have a good day.
It may no better be.”
Tears fell out of his eyes,
He would have gone his way.
“Farewell, friend, and have a good day,
I have no more to pay.”
“Where are your friends?” said Robin.
“Sir, not one of them knows me now.
When I was rich enough at home,
Great boasts to me they’d vow.
“And now they run away from me
Like beasts in a row.
They take no more heed of me,
As if they didn’t know.”
For sorrow then wept Little John,
Scarlett and Much together.
“Pour out the best wine,” said Robin,
“For here is a poor fellow.
“Hast thou any friend,” said Robin,
“That would thy sponsor be?”
“I have none,” then said the knight,
“But God that died on a tree.”
“Do away with thy jokes,” said Robin.
“There I’ll find me none.
Who should I have God borrow it from,
Peter, Paul, or John?
“Nay, by Him that made me
And shaped the moon and sun,
Find me a better sponsor,” said Robin,
“Or money get thou none.”
“I have no other,” said the knight,
“The truth for to say,
Unless it be Our Dear Lady.
She never failed me to this day.”
“By dear worthy God,” said Robin,
“To search all England over,
I never found for my money
A much better sponsor.
“Come forth now, Little John,
And go to my treasure
And bring me four hundred pounds.
And see that it’s well-measured.”
Forth then went Little John,
And Scarlett went before.
He counted out four hundred pounds,
About eight and twenty score.
“Is this well-measured?” said Much.
John said, “What grieveth thee?
It’s all to help that gentle knight
That fell into poverty.
“Master,” then said Little John,
“His clothing is very thin.
You must give the knight some good clothes
To wrap his body in.
“For you have scarlet dyed deep in the grain
And many a rich array.
There’s no merchant in merry England
So rich, I dare well say.”
“Take him three yards of every color,
And see that you measure it true.”
Little John took no other measure
But his long bow of yew.
At every handful that he met,
He counted it a yard.
“What sort of a cloth measurer,” said Much,
“Do you think you are?”
Scarlett stood still and laughed
And said, “By God almighty,
John may give him good measure
For it costs him but lightly.”
“Master,” then said Little John
To gentle Robin Hood,
“You must give the knight a horse
To carry home these goods.”
“Take him that grey courser,” said Robin,
“And a saddle new.
He’s Our Lady’s messenger,
God grant that he be true.”
“And a good palfrey,” said Much,
“To maintain him in his right.”
“And a pair of boots,” said Scarlett,
“For he is a gentle knight.”
“What shall you give him, Little John?” said Robin.
“Sir, a pair of gilded spurs,
Which, all this company prays,
Will bring him out of hurt.”
“When shall my day be?” said the knight.
“Sir, thy will shall be.”
“This day, twelve months from now,” said Robin,
“Under this greenwood tree.
“It would be a great shame,” said Robin,
“A knight alone to ride
Without squire, yeoman or page
To walk by his side.
“I shall lend thee Little John, my man,
And he shall be thy knave.
In a yeoman’s stead he may thee stand
If ever you have great need.”
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