he mountnaunce of an owre.

169.
'I make myn avowe to God,' sayde Litell Johnn,
'And by my true lewte;
Thou art one of the best sworde-men
That ever yit sawe I me.

170.
'Cowdest thou shote as well in a bowe,
To grene wode thou shuldest with me,
And two times in the yere thy clothinge
Chaunged shulde be;

171.
'And every yere of Robyn Hode
Twenty merke to thy fe.'
'Put up thy swerde,' saide the coke,
'And felowes woll we be.'

172.
Thanne he fet to Lytell Johnn
The nowmbles of a do,
Gode brede, and full gode wyne;
They ete and drank theretoo.

173.
And when they had dronkyn well,
Theyre trouthes togeder they plight
That they wolde be with Robyn
That ylke same nyght.

174.
They dyd them to the tresoure-hows,
As fast as they myght gone;
The lokkes, that were of full gode stele,
They brake them everichone.

175.
They toke away the silver vessell,
And all that thei might get;
Pecis, masars, ne sponis,
Wolde thei not forget.

176.
Also they toke the gode pens,
Thre hundred pounde and more,
And did them streyte to Robyn Hode,
Under the grene wode hore.

177.
'God thee save, my dere mayster,
And Criste thee save and se!'
And thanne sayde Robyn to Litell Johnn,
'Welcome myght thou be.

178.
'Also be that fayre yeman
Thou bryngest there with thee;
What tydynges fro Notyngham?
Lytill Johnn, tell thou me.'

179.
'Well thee gretith the proude sheryf,
And sendeth thee here by me
His coke and his silver vessell,
And thre hundred pounde and thre.'

180.
'I make myne avowe to God,' sayde Robyn,
'And to the Trenyte,
It was never by his gode wyll
This gode is come to me.'

181.
Lytyll Johnn there hym bethought
On a shrewde wyle;
Fyve myle in the forest he ran,
Hym happed all his wyll.

182.
Than he met the proude sheref,
Huntynge with houndes and horne;
Lytell Johnn coude of curtesye,
And knelyd hym beforne.

183.
'God thee save, my dere mayster,
Ande Criste thee save and se!'
'Reynolde Grenelefe,' sayde the shryef,
'Where hast thou nowe be?'

184.
'I have be in this forest;
A fayre syght can I se;
It was one of the fayrest syghtes
That ever yet sawe I me.

185.
'Yonder I sawe a ryght fayre harte,
His coloure is of grene;
Seven score of dere upo