Classic Poem

ROBYN HODE

Lysten, to [me], my mery men all,
And harke what I shall say;
Of an adventure I shall you tell,
That befell this other daye.
With a proude potter I met,
And a rose-garlande on his head,
The floures of it shone marvaylous freshe;
This seven yere and more he hath used this waye,
Yet was he never so curteyse a potter
As one peny passage to paye.
Is there any of my mery men all
That dare be so bolde
To make the potter paie passage,
Either silver or golde?

LYTELL JOHN

Not I master, for twenty pound redy tolde,
For there is not among us al one
That dare medle with that potter, man for man.
I felt his handes not long agone,
But I had lever have ben here by the;
Therfore I knowe what he is.
Mete him when ye wil, or mete him whan ye shal,
He is as propre a man as ever you medle[d] withal.

ROBYN HODE

I will lai with the, Litel John, twenti pound so read,
If I wyth that potter mete,
I wil make him pay passage, maugre his head.

LYTTEL JOHN

I consente therto, so eate I bread;
If he pay passage, maugre his head,
Twenti pound shall ye hare of me for your mede.

THE POTTERS BOY JACKE

Out alas, that ever I sawe this daye!
For I am clene out of my waye
From Notyngham towne;
If I hye me not the faster,
Or I come there the market wel be done.

ROBYN HODE

Let me se, are the pottes hole and sounde?

JACKE

Yea, meister, but they will not breake the ground.

ROBYN HODE

I wil them breke, for the cuckold thi maisters sake;
And if they will breake the grounde,
Thou shalt have thre pence for a pound.

JACKE

Out alas! what have ye done?
If my maister come, he will breke your crown

THE POTTER

Why, thou horeson, art thou here yet?
Thou shouldest have bene at market.

JACKE

I met with Robin Hode, a good yeman;
He hath broken my pottes,
And called you kuckolde by your name.

THE POTTER

Thou mayst he a gentylman, so God me save,
But thou semest a noughty knave.
Thou callest me cuckolde by my name,
And I swere by God and Saynt John,
Wyfe had I never none:
This cannot I denye.
But if thou be a good felowe,
I wil sel mi horse, mi harneis, pottes and paniers to,
Thou shalt have the one halfe, and I will have the other.
If thou be not so content,
Thou shalt have stripes, if thou were my brother.

ROBYN HODE

Harke, potter, what I shall say:
This seven yere and more thou hast used this way,
Yet were thou never so curteous to me
As one penny passage to paye.

THE POTTER

Why should I pay passage to thee?

ROBYN HODE

For I am Robyn Hode, chiefe gouernoure
Under the grene-woode tree.

THE POTTER

This seven yere have I used this way up and downe,
Yet payed I passage to no man,
Nor now I wyl not beginne, to do the worst thou can.

ROBYN HODE

Passage shalt thou pai here under the grene-wode tre,
Or els thou shalt leve a wedde with me.

THE POTTER

If thou be a good felowe, as men do the call,
Laye awaye thy bowe,
And take thy sword and buckeler in thy hande,
And se what shall befall.

ROBIN HODE

Lyttle John, where art thou?

LYTTEL [JOHN]

Here, mayster, I make God avowe.
I tolde you, mayster, so God me save,
That you shoulde fynde the potter a knave.
Holde your buckeler faste in your hande,
And I wyll styfly by you stande,
Ready for to fyghte;
Be the knave never so stoute,
I shall rappe him on the snoute,
And put hym to flyghte.