Delphi Poetry Anthology: The World's Greatest Poems (Delphi Poets Series Book 50) (72 page)

‘God the save, Robyn Hode,
 
And all this company’:
‘Welcome be thou, gentyll knyght,
 
And ryght welcome to me.’
  
240

Than bespake hym Robyn Hode,
 
To that knyght so fre:
What nede dryveth the to grene-wode?
 
I praye the, syr knyght, tell me.

‘And welcome be thou, gentyll knyght,
  
245
 
Why hast thou be so longe?’
‘For the abbot and the hye iustyce
 
Wolde have had my londe.’

‘Hast thou thy londe agayne?’ sayd Robyn;
 
‘Treuth than tell thou me’:
  
250
‘Ye, for God,’ sayd the knyght,
 
‘And that thanke I God and the.

‘But take no grefe, that I have be so longe;
 
I came by a wrastelynge,
And there I holpe a pore yeman,
  
255
 
With wronge was put behynde.’

‘Nay, for God,’ sayd Robyn,
 
‘Syr knyght, that thanke I the;
What man that helpeth a good yeman,
 
His frende than wyll I be.’
  
260

‘Have here foure hondred pounde,’ sayd the knyght,
 
‘The whiche ye lent to me;
And here is also twenty marke
 
For your curteysy.’

‘Nay, for God,’ sayd Robyn,
  
265
 
‘Thou broke it well for ay;
For Our Lady, by her hye selerer,
 
Hath sent to me my pay.

‘And yf I toke it i-twyse,
 
A shame it were to me;
  
270
But trewely, gentyll knyght,
 
Welcome arte thou to me.’

Whan Robyn had tolde his tale,
 
He leugh and made good chere:
‘By my trouthe,’ then sayd the knyght,
  
275
 
‘Your money is redy here.’

‘Broke it well,’ said Robyn,
 
‘Thou gentyll knyght so fre;
And welcome be thou, gentyll knyght,
 
Under my trystell-tre.
  
280

‘But what shall these bowes do?’ sayd Robyn,
 
‘And these arowes ifedred fre?
‘By God,’ than sayd the knyght,
 
‘A pore present to the.’

‘Come now forth, Lytell Johan,
  
285
 
And go to my treasurë,
And brynge me there foure hondred pounde;
 
The monke over-tolde it me.

‘Have here foure hondred pounde,
 
Thou gentyll knyght and trewe,
  
290
And bye thee hors and harnes good,
 
And gylte thy spores all newe.

‘And yf thou fayle ony spendynge,
 
Com to Robyn Hode,
And by my trouth thou shalt none fayle,
  
295
 
The whyles I have any good.

‘And broke well thy foure hondred pound,
 
Whiche I lent to the,
And make thy selfe no more so bare,
 
By the counsell of me.’
  
300

Thus than holpe hym good Robyn,
 
The knyght all of his care:
God, that syt in heven hye,
 
Graunte us well to fare!

List of Poems in Alphabetical Order

List of Poets in Alphabetical Order

The Fyfth Fytte

Now hath the knyght his leve i-take,
 
And wente hym on his way;
Robyn Hode and his mery men
 
Dwelled styll full many a day.

Lyth and lysten, gentil men,
  
5
 
And herken what I shall say,
How the proud sheryfe of Notyngham
 
Dyde crye a full fayre play;

That all the best archers of the north
 
Sholde come upon a day,
  
10
And he that shoteth allther best
 
The game shall bere away.

He that shoteth allther best,
 
Furthest fayre and lowe,
At a payre of fynly buttes,
  
15
 
Under the grene wode shawe,

A ryght good arowe he shall have,
 
The shaft of sylver whyte,
The hede and feders of ryche rede golde,
 
In Englond is none lyke.
  
20

This than herde good Robyn,
 
Under his trystell-tre:
‘Make you redy, ye wyght yonge men;
 
That shotynge wyll I se.

‘Buske you, my mery yonge men;
  
25
 
Ye shall go with me;
And I wyll wete the shryvës fayth,
 
Trewe and yf he be.’

Whan they had theyr bowes i-bent,
 
Theyr takles fedred fre,
  
30
Seven score of wyght yonge men
 
Stode by Robyns kne.

Whan they cam to Notyngham,
 
The buttes were fayre and longe;
Many was the bolde archere
  
35
 
That shot with bowës stronge.

‘There shall but syx shote with me;
 
The other shal kepe my he [ve] de,
And stande with good bowes bent,
 
That I be not desceyved.’
  
40

The fourth outlawe his bowe gan bende,
 
And that was Robyn Hode,
And that behelde the proud sheryfe,
 
All by the but he stode.

Thryës Robyn shot about,
  
45
 
And alway he slist the wand,
And so dyde good Gylberte
 
With the whytë hande.

Lytell Johan and good Scatheloke
 
Were archers good and fre;
  
50
Lytell Much and good Reynolde,
 
The worste wolde they not be.

Whan they had shot aboute,
 
These archours fayre and good,
Evermore was the best,
  
55
 
For soth, Robyn Hode.

Hym was delyvered the good arowe,
 
For best worthy was he;
He toke the yeft so curteysly,
 
To grene-wode wolde he.
  
60

They cryed out on Robyn Hode,
 
And grete hornes gan they blowe:
‘Wo worth the, treason!’ sayd Robyn
 
‘Full evyl thou art to knowe.

‘An wo be thou! thou proude sheryf,
  
65
 
Thus gladdynge thy gest;
Other wyse thou behote me
 
In yonder wylde forest.

‘But had I the in grene-wode,
 
Under my trystell-tre,
  
70
Thou sholdest leve me a better wedde
 
Than thy trewe lewtë.

Full many a bowë there was bent,
 
And arowes let they glyde;
Many a kyrtell there was rent,
  
75
 
And hurt many a syde.

The outlawes shot was so stronge
 
That no man myght them dryve,
And the proud sheryfes men,
 
They fled away full blyve.
  
80

Robyn sawe the busshement to-broke,
 
In grene wode he wolde have be;
Many an arowe there was shot
 
Amonge that company.

Lytell Johan was hurte full sore,
  
85
 
With an arowe in his kne,
That he myght neyther go nor ryde;
 
It was full grete pytë.

‘Mayster,’ then sayd Lytell Johan,
 
‘If ever thou lovedst me,
  
90
And for that ylkë lordës love
 
That dyed upon a tre,

‘And for the medes of my servyce,
 
That I have served the,
Lete never the proud sheryf
  
95
 
Alyve now fyndë me.

‘But take out thy browne swerde,
 
And smyte all of my hede,
And gyve me woundës depe and wyde;
 
No lyfe on me be lefte.’
  
100

‘I wolde not that,’ sayd Robyn,
 
‘Johan, that thou were slawe,
For all the golde in merry Englonde,
 
Though it lay now on a rawe.’

‘God forbede,’ sayd Lytell Much,
  
105
 
‘That dyed on a tre,
That thou sholdest, Lytell Johan,
 
Parte our company.’

Up he toke hym on his backe,
 
And bare hym well a myle;
  
110
Many a tyme he layd him downe,
 
And shot another whyle.

Then was there a fayre castell,
 
A lytell within the wode;
Double-dyched it was about,
  
115
 
And walled, by the rode.

And there dwelled that gentyll knyght,
 
Syr Rychard at the Lee,
That Robyn had lent his good,
 
Under the grene-wode tree.
  
120

In he toke good Robyn,
 
And all his company:
‘Welcome be thou, Robyn Hode,
 
Welcome art thou to me;

‘And moche I thanke the of thy comfort,
  
125
 
And of thy curteysye,
And of thy grete knydnesse,
 
Under the grene-wode tre.

‘I love no man in all this worlde
 
So much as I do the;
  
130
For all the proud sheryf of Notyngham,
 
Ryght here shalt thou be.

‘Shutte the gates, and drawe the brydge,
 
And let no man come in,
And arme you well, and make you redy,
  
135
 
And to the walles ye wynne.

‘For one thynge, Robyn, I the behote;
 
I swere by Saynt Quyntyne,
These forty dayes thou wonnest with me,
 
To soupe, ete, and dyne.’
  
140

Bordes were layde, and clothes were spredde,
 
Redely and anone;
Robyn Hode and his merry men
 
To metë can they gone.

List of Poems in Alphabetical Order

List of Poets in Alphabetical Order

The Sixth Fytte

Lythe and lysten, gentylmen,
 
And herkyn to your songe;
Howe the proude shyref of Notyngham,
 
And men of armys stronge,

Full fast cam to the hye shyref,
  
5
 
The contrë up to route,
And they besette the knyghtes castell,
 
The wallës all aboute.

The proude shyref loude gan crye,
 
And sayde, ‘Thou traytour knight,
  
10
Thou kepest here the kynges enemys,
 
Agaynst the lawe and right.’

‘Sir, I wyll avow that I have done,
 
The dedys that here be dyght,
Upon all the landës that I have,
  
15
 
As I am a trewe knyght.

‘Wende furth, sirs, on your way,
 
And do no more to me
Tyll ye wyt oure kyngës wille,
 
What he wyll say to the.’
  
20

The shyref thus had his answere,
 
Without any lesynge;
Forth he yede to London towne,
 
All for to tel our kinge.

Ther he telde him of that knight,
  
25
 
And eke of Robyn Hode,
And also of the bolde archars,
 
That were soo noble and gode.

‘He wyll avowe that he hath done,
 
To mayntene the outlawes stronge;
  
30
He wyll be lorde, and set you at nought,
 
In all the northe londe.’

‘I wil be at Notyngham,’ saide our kynge,
 
‘Within this fourteenyght,
And take I wyll Robyn Hode
  
35
 
And so I wyll that knight.

‘Go nowe home, shyref,’ sayde our kynge,
 
‘And do as I byd the;
And ordeyn gode archers ynowe,
 
Of all the wyde contrë.’
  
40

The shyref had his leve i-take,
 
And went hym on his way,
And Robyn Hode to grene wode,
 
Upon a certen day.

And Lytel John was hole of the arowe
  
45
 
That shot was in his kne,
And dyd hym streyght to Robyn Hode,
 
Under the grene wode tree.

Robyn Hode walked in the forest,
 
Under the levys grene;
  
50
The proude shyref of Notyngham
 
Thereof he had grete tene.

The shyref there fayled of Robyn Hode,
 
He myght not have his pray;
Than he awayted this gentyll knyght,
  
55
 
Bothe by nyght and day.

Ever he wayted the gentyll knyght,
 
Syr Richarde at the Lee,
As he went on haukynge by the ryver-syde,
 
And lete his haukës flee.
  
60

Toke he there this gentyll knight,
 
With men of armys stronge,
And led hym to Notynghamwarde,
 
Bound bothe fote and hande.

The shyref sware a full grete othe,
  
65
 
Bi him that dyed on rode,
He had lever than an hundred pound
 
That he had Robyn Hode.

This harde the knyghtës wyfe,
 
A fayr lady and a free;
  
70
She set hir on a gode palfrey,
 
To grene wode anone rode she.

Whanne she cam in the forest,
 
Under the grene wode tree,
Fonde she there Robyn Hode,
  
75
 
And al his fayre menë.

‘God the save, gode Robyn,
 
And all thy company;
For Our dere Ladyes sake,
 
A bone graunte thou me.
  
80

‘Late never my wedded lorde
 
Shamefully slayne be;
He is fast bound to Notinghamwarde,
 
For the love of the.’

Anone than saide goode Robyn
  
85
 
To that lady so fre,
‘What man hath your lorde ytake?’
 
‘The proude shirife,’ than sayd she.

. . . . . . .

 
‘For soth as I the say;
He is nat yet thre mylës
  
90
 
Passed on his way.’

Up than sterte gode Robyn,
 
As man that had ben wode:
‘Buske you, my mery men,
 
For hym that dyed on rode.
  
95

‘And he that this sorowe forsaketh,
 
By hym that dyed on tre,
Shall he never in grene wode
 
No lenger dwel with me.’

Sone there were gode bowës bent,
  
100
 
Mo than seven score;
Hedge ne dyche spared they none
 
That was them before.

‘I make myn avowe to God,’ sayde Robyn
 
‘The sherif wolde I fayne see;
  
105
And if I may him take,
 
I-quyt then shall he be.’

And when they came to Notingham,
 
They walked in the strete;
And with the proude sherif i-wys
  
110
 
Sonë can they mete.

‘Abyde, thou proude sherif,’ he sayde,
 
‘Abyde, and speke with me;
Of some tidinges of oure kinge
 
I wolde fayne here of the.
  
115

‘This seven yere, by dere worthy God,
 
Ne yede I this fast on fote;
I make myn avowe to God, thou proude sherif,
 
It is not for thy gode.’

Robyn bent a full goode bowe,
  
120
 
An arrowe he drowe at wyll;
He hit so the proude sherife
 
Upon the grounde he lay full still.

And or he myght up aryse,
 
On his fete to stonde,
  
125
He smote of the sherifs hede
 
With his bright bronde.

‘Lye thou there, thou proude sherife;
 
Evyll mote thou thryve:
There myght no man to the truste
  
130
 
The whyles thou were a lyve.’

His men drewe out theyr bryght swerdes,
 
That were so sharpe and kene,
And layde on the sheryves men,
 
And dryved them downe bydene.
  
135

Robyn stert to that knyght,
 
And cut a two his bonde,
And toke hym in his hand a bowe,
 
And bad hym by hym stonde.

‘Leve thy hors the behynde,
  
140
 
And lerne for to renne;
Thou shalt with me to grene wode,
 
Through myre, mosse, and fenne.

‘Thou shalt with me to grene wode,
 
Without ony leasynge,
  
145
Tyll that I have gete us grace
 
Of Edwarde, our comly kynge.’

List of Poems in Alphabetical Order

List of Poets in Alphabetical Order