Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne

This is an Anglish translation of Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne, a story found in the manuscript British Library Add MSS 27879 from around 1650. It is believed that the story is much older than this surviving version.

The Writ
Hƿen scales are scene and screds full fair, And leafs boþ lufly and long, It is merry ƿalking in þe ƿinsum ƿoods, To hear þe small birds sing.

Þe ƿoodƿale sang, and ƿuld not stop, Amongst þe leafs of lime. "And it is by tƿo ƿigt geoman, By dear God, þat I mean.

"Meþougt þey did me beat and bind, And took my boƿ me fro. If I be Robin alife in þis land, I ƿill be ƿraken on boþ þem tƿo."

"Sƿefens are sƿift, lord," cƿoþ John, "As þe ƿind þat bloƿes ofer a hill, For if it be nefer so lude þis nigt, Tomorroƿ it may be still."

"Busk ge, bune ge, my merry men all, For John scall go ƿiþ me, For I ƿill go seek geond ƿigt geomen In greenƿood hƿere þey be."

Þe cast on her ƿeed of green, A scooting gone are hy, Until hy came to þe merry greenƿood, Hƿere hy ƿuld gladdest be. Þere ƿere þe ƿare of ƿigt geoman, His body leaned to a tree.

A sƿord and a sax he ƿore by his side, Hƿic had been many a mans bane, And he ƿas clad in his capel hide, Top, and tail, and mane.

"Stand geƿ still, lord," cƿoþ Littel John, "Under þis trusty tree, And I ƿill go to geond ƿigt geoman, To knoƿ his meaning treƿly."

"Aye, John, by me þu sets no store, And þats a ferly þing. Hoƿ oft send I my men before, And tarry myself behind?

"It takes no cunning to ken a knafe, And a man but hear him speak. And if it ƿere not for my boƿ bursting, John, I ƿuld þy head break."

But often ƿords breed bale, And so split Robin and John. John fared to Barnsdale, Þe gates he knoƿs eac one.

And hƿen he ƿent to Barnsdale, Great heafiness þere he had. He fund tƿo of his oƿn felloƿs, Ƿere slain boþ in a slade.

And Scarlett on foot ƿas flying, Ofer stocks and stone, For þe sceriff ƿiþ sefen skore men Fast after him had gone.

"Yet one scot I ƿill scoot," said Littel John, "Ƿiþ Crist his migt and main, I ƿill make geond felloƿ þat flys so fast To be boþ glad and fain."

John bent up a good geƿ boƿ, And fettelled it to scoot. Þe boƿ ƿas made of a neƿ groƿn buge, And fell doƿn to his foot.

"Ƿoe ƿorþ þee, ƿicked ƿood," said Littel John, "That ere þu greƿ on a tree. For þis day þu art my bale, Hƿen my boot þu sculd be."

This shoote it ƿas but looselye shott, The arroƿe fleƿ in vaine, And it mett one of þe sheriffes men; Good William a Trent ƿas slaine.

It had beene better for William a Trent To hange upon a galloƿe Then for to lye in þe greenƿoode, There slaine ƿiþ an arroƿe.

And it is sayd, hƿen men be mett, Six can doe more þen þree: And þey have tane Litle John, And bound him fast to a tree.

"Thou shalt be draƿen by dale and doƿne," quoþ þe sheriffe, "And hanged hye on a hill." "But þou may fayle," quoþ Litle John, "If itt be Christs oƿne ƿill."

Let us leave talking of Litle John, For hee is bound fast to a tree, And talke of Guy and Robin Hood, In þe green ƿoode hƿere þey bee.

Hoƿ þese tƿo yeomen togeþer þey mett, Under þe leaves of lyne, To see hƿat marchandise þey made Even at þat same time.

"Good morroƿ, good felloƿ," quoþ Sir Guy; "Good morroƿ, good feloƿ," quoþ hee, "Meþinkes by þis boƿ þou beares in þy hand, A good archer þou seems to be."

"I am ƿilfull of my ƿay," quoþ Sir Guye, "And of my morning tyde." "Ile lead þee þrough þe ƿood," quoþ Robin, "Good feloƿ, Ile be þy guide."

"I seeke an outlaƿ," quoþ Sir Guye, "Men call him Robin Hood; I had raþer meet ƿiþ him upon a day, Then forty pound of golde."

"If you toƿ mett, itt ƿold be seene hƿeþer ƿere better Afore yee did part aƿaye; Let us some oþer pastime find, Good felloƿ, I þee pray.

"Let us some oþer masteryes make, And ƿee ƿill ƿalke in þe ƿoods even; Ƿee may chance meet ƿiþ Robin Hoode Att some unsett steven."

They cutt þem doƿne þe summer shroggs Hƿich greƿ boþ under a bryar, And sett þem þree score rood in tƿinn, To shoote þe prickes full neare.

"Leade on, good felloƿ," sayd Sir Guye, "Lead on, I doe bidd þee." "Nay, by my faiþ," quoþ Robin Hood, "The leader þou shalt bee."

The first good shoot þat Robin ledd Did not shoote an inch þe pricke froe; Guy ƿas an archer good enoughe, But he cold neere shoote soe.

The second shoote Sir Guy shott, He shott ƿiþin þe garlande; But Robin Hoode shott it better þan hee, For he clove þe good pricke-ƿande.

"Gods blessing on þy heart!" sayes Guye, "Goode felloƿ, þy shooting is goode, For an þy hart be as good as þy hands, Thou ƿere better þen Robin Hood.

"Tell me þy name, good felloƿ," quoþ Guy, "Under þe leaves of lyne." "Nay, by my faiþ," quoþ good Robin, "Till þou have told me þine."

"I dƿell by dale and doƿne," quoþ Guye, "And I have done many a curst turne; And he þat calles me by my right name Calles me Guye of good Gysborne."

"My dƿelling is in þe ƿood," sayes Robin, "By þee I set right nought; My name is Robin Hood of Barnesdale, A felloƿ þou has long sought."

He þat had neiþer beene a kiþe nor kin Might have seene a full fayre sight, To see hoƿ togeþer þese yeomen ƿent, Ƿiþ blades boþ broƿne and bright.

To have seene hoƿ þese yeomen togeþer fought, Tƿo hoƿers of a summers day; Itt ƿas neiþer Guy nor Robin Hood That fettled þem to flye aƿay.

Robin ƿas reachles on a roote, And stumbled at þat tyde, And Guy ƿas quicke and nimble ƿiþ-all, And hitt him ore þe left side.

"Ah, deere Lady!" sayd Robin Hoode, "Thou art boþ moþer and may! I þinke it ƿas never mans destinye To dye before his day."

Robin þought on Our Lady deere, And soone leapt up againe, And þus he came ƿiþ an aƿkƿarde stroke; Good Sir Guy hee has slayne.

He tooke Sir Guys head by þe hayre, And sticked itt on his boƿes end: "Thou hast beene traytor all þy liffe, Hƿich þing must have an ende."

Robin pulled forþ an Irish kniffe, And nicked Sir Guy in þe face, That hee ƿas never on a ƿoman borne Cold tell hƿo Sir Guye ƿas.

Saies, "Lye þere, lye þere, good Sir Guye, And ƿiþ me be not ƿroþe; If þou have had þe ƿorse stroakes at my hand, Thou shalt have þe better cloaþe."

Robin did his goƿne of greene, On Sir Guye it þroƿe; And hee put on þat capull-hyde, That cladd him topp to toe.

"The boƿe, þe arroƿes, and litle horne, And ƿiþ me noƿ Ile beare; For noƿ I ƿill goe to Barnsdale, To see hoƿ my men doe fare."

Robin sett Guyes horne to his mouþ, A loƿd blast in it he did bloƿ; That beheard þe sheriffe of Nottingham, As he leaned under a loƿe.

"Hearken! hearken!" sayd þe sheriffe, "I heard noe tydings but good, For yonder I heare Sir Guyes horne bloƿe, For he haþ slaine Robin Hoode.

"For yonder I heare Sir Guyes horne bloƿ, Itt bloƿes soe ƿell in tyde, For yonder comes þat ƿight yeoman, Cladd in his capull-hyde.

"Come hiþer, þou good Sir Guy, Aske of mee hƿat þou ƿilt have." "Ile none of þy gold," sayes Robin Hood, "Nor Ile none of itt have."

"But noƿ I have slaine þe master," he sayd, "Let me goe strike þe knave; This is all þe reƿard I aske, Nor noe oþer ƿill I have."

"Thou art a madman," said þe shiriffe, "Thou sholdest have had a knights fee; Seeing þy asking bee soe badd, Ƿell granted it shall be."

But Litle John heard his master speake, Ƿell he kneƿ þat ƿas his steven; "Noƿ shall I be loset," quoþ Litle Iohn, "Ƿiþ Christs might in heaven."

But Robin hee hyed him toƿards Litle John, Hee þought hee ƿold loose him belive; The sheriffe and all his companye Fast after him did drive.

"Stand abacke! stand abacke!" sayd Robin; "Hƿy draƿ you mee soe neere? Itt ƿas never þe use in our countrye One's shrift anoþer shold heere."

But Robin pulled forþ an Irysh kniffe, And losed John hand and foote, And gave him Sir Guyes boƿ in his hand, And bade it be his boote.

But John tooke Guyes boƿ in his hand His arroƿes ƿere raƿstye by þe roote; The sherriffe saƿ Litle John draƿ a boƿ And fettle him to shoote.

Toƿards his house in Nottingam He fled full fast aƿay, And soe did all his companye, Not one behind did stay.

But he cold neiþer soe fast goe, Nor aƿay soe fast runn, But Litle John, ƿiþ an arroƿ broade, Did cleave his heart in tƿinn.