"
"Take thy bow in thy hand," said Robin,
"Let Much wende with thee,
And so shall William Scathelock,
And no man abide with me,
And walk up into the Sa-yl-es,
And to Watling Street,
And wait after such unketh gest,
Up-chance ye may them meet.
Whether he be messeng-er,
Or a man that mirth-es can,
Or if he be a poor man,
Of my good he shall have some."
Forth then stert Little John,
Half in tray and teen,
And girded him with a full good sword,
Under a mantle of green.
They went up to the Sa-yl-es,
These yeomen all three;
They look-ed east, they look-ed west,
They might no man see.
But as he looked in Barnisdale,
By the high way,
Then were they ware of two black monks,
Each on a good palfray.
Then bespak-e Little John,
To Much he gan say,
"I dare lay my life to wed,
That these monks have brought our pay.
Make glad cheer," said Little John,
"And frese our bows of yew,
And look your hearts be sicker and sad,
Your strings trust-y and true.
The monk hath fifty-two men,
And seven som-ers full strong,
There rideth no bishop in this land
So royally, I understond.
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