He never would shed any mans blood

That him invaded not.

Nor would he injure husbandmen,

That toyld at cart and plough;

For well he knew, were’t not for them,

To live no man knew how.

The king in person, with some lords,

To Notingham did ride,

To try what strength and skill affords

To crush these outlawes pride.

And, as he once before had done,

He did againe proclaime,

What whosoere would take upon

To bring to Notingham,

Or any place within the land,

Rebellious Robbin Hood,

Should be prefered in place to stand

With those of noble blood.

When Robbin Hood heard of the same,

Within a little space,

Into the towne of Nottingham

A letter to his Grace

He shot upon an arrow-head,

One evening cunningly;

Which was brought to the king, and read

Before his Majesty.

The tennour of this letter was

That Robbin would submit,

And be true leigeman to his Grace,

In any thing that’s fit,

So that his Highnesse would forgive

Him and his merry men all;

If not, he must i’th’ greene wood live,

And take what chance did fall.

The king would faine have pardoned him,

But that some lords did say,

“This president will much condemne

Your Grace another day”.

While that the king and lords did stay

Debating on this thing,

Some of these outlawes fled away

Unto the Scottish king.

For they suppos’d, if he were tane,

Or to the king did yeeld,

By th’commons all the rest on’s traine

Full quickely would be quell’d.

Of more than full a hundred men

But forty tarryed still,

Who were resolvd to sticke to him,

Let fortune worke her will.

If none had fled, all for his sake

Had got their pardon free;

The king to favour meant to take

His merry men and he.

But ere the pardon to him came,

This famous archer dy’d.

His death, and manner of the same,

I’le presently describe.

For, being vext to thinke upon

His followers revolt,

In melancholly passion

He did recount their fault.

“Perfideous traytors!” sayd he then,

“In all your dangers past

Have I you guarded as my men

To leave me thus at last?”

This sad perplexity did cause

A fever, as some say,

Which him unto confusion drawes,

Though by a stranger way.

This deadly danger to prevent,

He hide him with all speede

Unto a nunnery, with intent

For his healths sake to bleede.

A faithless fryer did pretend

In love to let him blood;

But he by falshood wrought the end

Of famous Robbin Hood.

The fryer, as some say, did this

To vindicate the wrong

Which to the clergie he and his

Had done by power strong.

Thus dyed he by trechery,

Who could not dye by force;

Had he liv’d longer, certainely,

King Richard, in remorse,

Had unto favour him receav’d;

He brave men elevated;

’Tis pitty he was of life bereav’d

By one which he so hated.

A treacherous leech this fryer was,

To let him bleed to death;

And Robbin was, me thinkes, an asse,

To trust him with his breath.

His corpes the priores of the place,

The next day that he dy’d,

Caused to be buried, in mean case,

Close by the high-way side.

And over him she caused a stone

To be fixed on the ground;

An epitaph was set thereon,

Wherein his name was found.