Classic Poem

" . . . . . . . .
In faith thou shal[t] haue mine,
And twenty pound in thy purse,
To spend att ale and wine."

" Though yo u r clothes are of light Lincolne green,
And mine gray russett and torne,
Yet it doth not you beseeme
To doe an old man scorne."

" I scorne thee not, old man," says Robin,
" By the faith of my body;
Doe of thy clothes, thou shalt haue mine,
For it may noe better bee."

But Robin did on this old mans hose,
The were torne in the wrist;
" When I looke on my leggs," said Robin,
" Then for to laugh I list."

But Robin did on the old mans shooes,
And the were cliitt full cleane;
" Now, by my faith," sayes Litle Iohn,
" These are good for thornis keene."

But Robin did on the old mans cloake,
And it was torne in the necke;
" Now, by my faith," said William Scarlett,
" Heere shold be set a specke."

But Robin did on this old mans hood,
Itt gogled on his crowne;
" When I come into Nottingham," said Robin,
" My hood it will lightly downe.

" But yonder is an outwood," said Robin,
" An outwood all and a shade,
And thither I reede you, my merrymen all,
The ready way to take.

" And when you heare my litle horne blow,
Come raking all on a rowte
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. . . . . . . .
*****

But Robin he lope, and Robin he threw,
He lope over stocke and stone;
But those that saw Ro bin Hood run
Said he was a liuer old man.

[Then Robin set his] horne to his mowth,
A loud blast cold h[e] blow;
Ffull three hundred bold yeomen
Came rakinge all on a row.

But Robin cast downe his baggs of bread,
Soe did he his staffe w i th a face,
And in a doublet of red veluett
This yeoman stood in his place.

" But bend yo u r bowes, and stroke yo u r strings,
Set the gallow-tree aboute,
And Christs cursse on his heart," said Robin,
" That spares the sheriffe and the sergiant!"

When the sheriffe see gentle Robin wold shoote,
He held vp both his hands;
Sayes, Aske, good Robin, and thou shalt haue,
Whether it be house or land.

" I will neither haue house nor land," said Ro bin ,
" Nor gold, nor none of thy ffee,
But I will haue those three squires
To the greene fforest w i th me.

" Now marry, Gods forbott," said the sheriffe,
" That euer tha t shold bee;
For why, they be the kings ffelons,
They are all condemned to dye."

" But grant me my askinge," said Robin,
" Or by the faith of my body
Thou shalt be the first man
Shall flower this gallow-tree."

" But I wi[ll haue t]hose three squires
. . . . . . . .