They keste away theyr graye.
'Now we shall to Notyngham,'
All thus our kynge gan say.

423.
They bente theyr bowes, and forth they went,
Shotynge all in fere,
Towarde the towne of Notyngham,
Outlawes as they were.

424.
Our kynge and Robyn rode togyder,
For soth as I you say;
And they shote plucke-buffet,
As they went by the way.

425.
And many a buffet our kynge wan
Of Robyn Hode that day,
And nothynge spared good Robyn
Our kynge in his pay.

426.
'So God me helpe,' sayd our kynge,
'Thy game is nought to lere;
I sholde not get a shote of thee,
Though I shote all this yere.'

427.
All the people of Notyngham
They stode and behelde;
They sawe nothynge but mantels of grene
That covered all the felde.

428.
Than every man to other gan say,
'I drede our kynge be slone;
Come Robyn Hode to the towne, i-wys
On lyve he lefte never one.'

429.
Full hastely they began to fle,
Both yemen and knaves,
And olde wyves that myght evyll goo,
They hypped on theyr staves.

430.
The kynge loughe full fast,
And commaunded theym agayne;
When they se our comly kynge,
I-wys they were full fayne.

431.
They ete and dranke, and made them glad,
And sange with notes hye;
Than bespake our comly kynge
To Syr Richarde at the Lee.

432.
He gave hym there his londe agayne,
A good man he bad hym be;
Robyn thanked our comly kynge,
And set hym on his kne.

433.
Had Robyn dwelled in the kynges courte
But twelve monethes and thre,
That he had spent an hondred pounde,
And all his mennes fe.

434.
In every place where Robyn came
Ever more he layde downe,
Both for knyghtes and for squyres,
To gete hym grete renowne.

435.
By than the yere was all agone
He had no man but twayne,
Lytell Johan and good Scathelocke,
With hym all for to gone.

436.
Robyn sawe yonge men shote
Full fayre upon a day;
'Alas!' than sayd good Robyn,
'My welthe is went away.

437.
'Somtyme I was an archere good,
A styffe and eke a stronge;
I was compted the best archere
That was in mery Englonde.

438.
'Alas!' then sayd good Robyn,
'Alas and well a woo!
Yf I dwele lenger with the kynge,
Sorowe wyll me sloo.'

439.
Forth than went Robyn Hode
Tyll he came to our kynge:
'My lorde the kynge o