And he has killed the master kid
That ran beneath that ladye's bed;
And he has loosed her left foot shee,
And latten that ladye lighter be;
And now he has gotten a bonnie son,
And meikle grace be him upon.
Ballad: Robin Hood And The Monk
In somer when the shawes be sheyne,
And leves be large and longe,
Hit is full mery in feyre foreste
To here the foulys song.
To se the dere draw to the dale,
And leve the hilles hee,
And shadow hem in the leves grene,
Vndur the grene-wode tre.
Hit befell on Whitsontide,
Erly in a may mornyng,
The son vp fayre can shyne,
And the briddis mery can syng.
"This is a mery mornyng," seid Litulle Johne,
"Be hym that dyed on tre;
A more mery man than I am one
Lyves not in Cristiante."
"Pluk vp thi hert, my dere mayster,"
Litulle Johne can sey,
"And thynk hit is a fulle fayre tyme
In a mornynge of may."
"Ze on thynge greves me," seid Robyne,
"And does my hert mych woo,
That I may not so solem day
To mas nor matyns goo.
"Hit is a fourtnet and more," seyd hee,
"Syn I my Sauyour see;
To day will I to Notyngham," seid Robyn,
"With the myght of mylde Mary."
Then spake Moche the mylner sune,
Euer more wel hym betyde,
"Take xii thi wyght zemen
Well weppynd be thei side.
Such on wolde thi selfe slon
That xii dar not abyde."
"Off alle my mery men," seid Robyne,
"Be my feithe I wil non haue;
But Litulle Johne shall beyre my bow
Til that me list to drawe."
* * * * *
"Thou shalle beyre thin own," seid Litulle Jon,
"Maister, and I wil beyre myne,
And we wille shete a peny," seid Litulle Jon,
"Vnder the grene wode lyne.
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