determines to go to it, and to test the
sheriff's faith to his oath (see the Third Fytte, stt. 202-4). Robin
wins the prize, and is starting home to the greenwood, when the sheriff
recognises and attacks him, but is beaten off by a shower of arrows.
Robin and his men retire, shooting as they go, until they come to a
castle. Here dwells the knight to whom Robin had lent the money--'Sir
Richard at the Lee.' He takes in Robin and his men, and defies the
sheriff; Robin, he says, shall spend forty days with him.

This fytte is no doubt based on some single lost ballad of a
shooting-match at which Robin was victorious, and at which the Sheriff
of Nottingham attempted in vain to arrest him. But the compiler of the
_Gest_ has carefully linked it to the preceding fyttes by such
references as Robin's determination to try the sheriff's faith
(st. 287), which is made clear in stt. 296-8; and the identification of
the knight whose castle protects Robin and his men with the knight to
whom the money had been lent (stt. 310-312).

THE FIFTH FYTTE

281.
Now hath the knyght his leve i-take,
And wente hym on his way;
Robyn Hode and his mery men
Dwelled styll full many a day.

282.
Lyth and listen, gentil men,
And herken what I shall say,
How the proud sheryfe of Notyngham
Dyde crye a full fayre play;

283.
That all the best archers of the north
Sholde come upon a day,
And he that shoteth allther best
The game shall bere away.

284.
He that shoteth allther best,
Furthest fayre and lowe,
At a payre of fynly buttes,
Under the grene wode shawe,

285.
A ryght good arowe he shall have,
The shaft of sylver whyte,
The hede and feders of ryche rede golde,
In Englond is none lyke.

286.
This than herde good Robyn
Under his trystell-tre:
'Make you redy, ye wyght yonge men;
That shotynge wyll I se.

287.
'Buske you, my mery yonge men;
Ye shall go with me;
And I wyll wete the shryves fayth,
Trewe and yf he be.'

288.
Whan they had theyr bowes i-bent,
Theyr takles fedred fre,
Seven score of wyght yonge men
Stode by Robyn's kne.

289.
Whan they cam to Notyngham,
The buttes were fayre and longe;
Many was the bolde archere
That shoted with bowes stronge.

290.
'There shall but syx shote with me;
The other shal kepe my hevede,
And stande with good bowes bent,
That I be not des