[This ballad is taken from Ritson's Robin Hood.' According to him, it had never appeared in print before. For he says, 'this curious, and hitherto unpublished, and even unheard of old piece is given from a manuscript, among Bishop More's collections, in the public library of the University of Cambridge, (Ee. 4. 35.) In a recent elaborate and curious article of the Archaeological Journal, which appears to settle the question of the antiquity of the Robin Hood ballads, this is stated to be the second in point of chronology-as such we place it here. At the end of the original is, 'Expleycyt Robyn Hode.' In the MS. stanza 29 is misplaced after stanza 24; and the first two lines of stanza 43 are transposed.' The corrections were made by Ritson who appears also, by the manner in which he printed the title of the ballad,-which we follow,--to have added the words in brackets.]

Herkens, god yemen,

Comley, cortessey, and god,
On of the best that yever bar bou,
Hes name was Roben Hode.

Roben Hood was the yemans name,
That was boyt corteys and fre,
For the loffe of owr ladey,
All wemen werschep he.

Bot as the god yeman stod on a day,
Among hes mery manèy,

He was war of a prowd potter,

Cam dryfyng owyr the ley.

Yonder comet a prod potter, seyde Roben,

That long hayt hantyd this wey,

He was never so corteys a man
On peney of pawage to pay.

Y met hem bot at Wentbreg, seyde Lytyll John,
And therfor yeffell mot he the,
Seche thre strokes he me gafe,

Yet they cleffe by my seydys.

Y ley forty shillings, seyde Lytyll John,
To pay het thes same day,
Ther ys nat a man among hus all
A wed schall make hem ley.

Her ys forty shillings, seyde Roben,
Mor, and thow dar say,

That y schall make that prowde pottèr,
A wed to me schall he le

Ther thes money they leyde,

They toke het a yeman to kepe;
Roben befor the potter he breyde,
And up to hem can lepe.

Handys apon hes horse he leyde,
And bad hem stonde foll stell.
The potter schorteley to hem seyde,
Felow, what ys they well?

All thes thre yer, and mor, potter, he seyde,
Thou hast hantyd thes wey,

Yet wer tow never so cortys a man

What ys they name, seyde the potter,
For pauage thow aske of me?
"Roben Hod ys mey name,

A wed schall thow leffe me."

Wed well y now leffe, seyde the potter,
Nor pavag well y now pay;
Awey they honde fro mey horse,

Y well the tene eyls, he mey fay.

The potter to hes cart he went,
He was not to seke,

A god to-hande staffe therowt be hent,
Befor Roben he lepe.

Roben howt with a swerd bent,

A bokeler en his honde therto;

The potter to Roben he went,

And seyde, Felow, let mey horse go.

Togeder then went thes two yemen,
Het was a god seyt to se;
Therof low Robyn hes men,
Ther they stod onder a tre.

Leytell John to hes felowhes seyde,
Yend potter well steffeley stonde.
The potter, with a caward stroke,

Smot the bokeler owt of hes honde;

And ar Roben meyt get hen agen,
Hes bokeler at hes fette,

The potter yn the neke hem toke,
To the gronde sone he yede.

That saw Roben hes men,

As thay stode ender a bow:

Let us helpe owr master, seyed Lytell John,
Yonder potter els well hem sclo.

Thes yemen went with a breyde,

To ther master they cam.

Leytell John to hes master seyde,

Ho haet the wager won?

Schall y haff yowr forty shillings seyde Lytel John,

Or ye, master, schall haffe myne?

Yeff they wer a hundred, seyde Robèn,

30

Het ys fol leytell cortesey, seyde the potter,
haffe harde weyse men saye,

As y

Yeff a por yeman com drywyng ower the wey,
To let hem of hes gorney.

Be mey trowet, thow seys soyt, seyde Roben,
Thow seys god yemenrey;

And thow dreyffe forthe yevery day,

Thow schalt never be let for me.

Y well prey the, god potter,

A felischepe well thow haffe?

Geffe me they clothyng, and thow schalt hafe myne
Y well go to Notynggam.

Y grant therto, seyde the potter,

Thow schalt feynde me a felow gode;

Bot thow can sell mey pottes well,

Com ayen as thow yode.

Nay, be mey trowt, seyde Roben,
And then y bescro mey hede,
Yeffe y bryng eney pottes ayen,
And eney weyffe well hem chepe.

Than spake Leytell John,

And all hes felowhes heynd,

Master, be well war of the screffe of Notynggam,
For he ys leytell howr frende.

Thorow the helpe of howr ladey,
Felowhes, let me alone;
Heyt war howte, seyde Roben,
To Notynggam well y gon.

Robyn went to Notynggam,
Thes pottes for to sell;

The potter abode with Robens men,
Ther he fered not eylle.

Tho Roben droffe on hes wey,
So merey ower the londe.
Heres mor and affter ys to saye,
The best ys beheynde.

THE SECOND FIT.

When Roben cam to Notynggam,

The soyt yef y scholde save,

He set op hes horse anon,

Yn the medys of the towne,
Ther he schowed hes war,

Pottys! pottys! he gan crey foll sone,
Haffe hansell for the mar.

Foll effen agenest the screffeys gate,
Schowed he hes chaffar;

Weyffes and wedowes abowt hem drow,
And chepyd fast of hes war.

Yet, Pottys, gret chepe! creyed Robyn,
Y loffe yeffell thes to stonde.

And all that saw hem sell,

Seyde he had be no potter long.

The pottys that wer werthe pens feyffe,
He solde tham for pens thre:
Preveley seyde man and weyffe,
Ywunder potter schall never the.

Thos Roben solde foll fast,

Tell he had pottys bot feyffe;

Op he hem toke of his car,

And sende hem. to the screffeys weyffe.

Therof sche was foll fayne,

Gereamarsey, sir, than seyde sche, When ye com to thes contre ayen,

Y schall bey of they pottys, so mot y the

Ye schall haffe of the best, seyde Roben,

And swar be the treneytè.

Foll corteysley she gan hem call,

Com deyne with the screfe and me.

Godamarsey, seyde Roben,

Yowr bedyng schall be doyn.

A mayden yn the pottys gan ber,

Roben and the screffe weyffe folowed anon.

Whan Roben ynto the hall cam,

The screffe sone he met,

The potter cowed of corteysey,

And sone the screffe he gret.

"Loketh what thes potter hayt geffe yow and me!

Feyffe pottys smalle and grete!"

He ys fol wellcom, seyd the screffe,