Robin Hood Part Two.

 Robin Hood and the Monk by Andrew Lang 

Andrew Lang was a prolific Scottish poet, novelist, literary critic, and contributor to the field of anthropology. He is best known today for his collections of fairy tales such as The Blue fairy which introduced generations of children to folklore. 

Andrew Lang 1888
Sourced from Wikipedia. 
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andrew_Lang

Andrew Lang's poem "Robin Hood and the Monk" tells the classic ballad of Robin's capture at Nottingham's church after a dispute with Little John, his imprisonment, and the Merry Men's elaborate, successful plot to free him, involving killing the treacherous monk and deceiving the Sheriff and King, showcasing loyalty and cleverness. It's one of the oldest, most detailed Robin Hood tales, emphasizing Robin's defiance of corrupt churchmen and the Sheriff, and highlighting Little John's resourcefulness in rescuing his master. 

Below a lovely full unabridged audiobook of the classic fairytale, "The Story of Robin Hood", by Andrew Lang - complete with soothing sounds and tranquil visuals. 

Robin Hood is a legendary heroic outlaw originally depicted in English folklore and subsequently featured in literature and film. According to legend, he was a highly skilled archer and swordsman. In some versions of the legend, he is depicted as being of noble birth, and in modern retellings he is sometimes depicted as having fought in the Crusades before returning to England to find his lands taken by the Sheriff. In the oldest known versions he is instead a member of the yeoman class. Traditionally depicted dressed in Lincoln green, he is said to have robbed from the rich and given to the poor. The story was adapted by Lang for his "Book of Romance" in 1902.

Read by Elliot Fitzpatrick.

The original poem. 

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."

"I wil not shete a peny," seyde Robyn Hode,
"In feith, Litulle Johne, with thee,
But euer for on as thou shetes," seid Robyn,
"In feith I holde the thre."

Thus shet thei forthe, these zemen too,
Bothe at buske and brome,
Til Litulle Johne wan of his maister
V s. to hose and shone.

A ferly strife fel them betwene,
As they went bi the way;
Litull Johne seid he had won v shyllyngs,
And Robyn Hode seid schortly nay.

With that Robyn Hode lyed Litul Jone,
And smote him with his honde;
Litul John waxed wroth therwith,
And pulled out his bright bronde.

Were thou not my maister," seid Litulle Johne,
"Thou shuldis by hit ful sore;
Get the a man where thou wilt, Robyn,
For thou getes me no more."

Then Robyn goes to Notyngham,
Hymselfe mornynge allone,
And Litulle Johne to mery Scherewode,
The pathes he knowe alkone.

Whan Robyn came to Notyngham,
Sertenly withoutene layne,
He prayed to God and myld Mary
To brynge hym out saue agayne.

He gos into seynt Mary chirche,
And knelyd downe before the rode;
Alle that euer were the churche within
Beheld wel Robyne Hode.

Beside hym stode a gret-hedid munke,
I pray to God woo he be;
Full sone he knew gode Robyn
As sone as he hym se.

Out at the durre he ran
Ful sone and anon;
Alle the zatis of Notyngham
He made to be sparred euerychone.

"Rise vp," he seid, "thou prowde schereff,
Buske the and make the bowne;
I haue spyed the kynges felone,
For sothe he is in this towne.

"I haue spyed the false felone,
As he stondes at his masse;
Hit is longe of the," seide the munke,
"And euer he fro vs passe.

"This traytur[s] name is Robyn Hode;
Vnder the grene wode lynde,
He robbyt me onys of a C pound,
Hit shalle neuer out of my mynde."

Vp then rose this prowd schereff,
And zade towarde hym zare;
Many was the modur son
To the kyrk with him can fare.

In at the durres thei throly thrast
With staves ful gode ilkone,
"Alas, alas," seid Robin Hode,
"Now mysse I Litulle Johne."

But Robyne toke out a too-hond sworde

That hangit down be his kne;

Ther as the schereff and his men stode thyckust,

Thidurward wold he.

Thryes thorow at them he ran,

Then for sothe as I yow say,

And woundyt many a modur sone,

And xii he slew that day.

Hys sworde vpon the schireff hed

Sertanly he brake in too;

"The smyth that the made," seid Robyn,

"I pray God wyrke him woo.

"For now am I weppynlesse," seid Robyne,

"Alasse, agayn my wylle;

But if I may fle these traytors fro,

I wot thei wil me kylle."

Robyns men to the churche ran
Throout hem euerilkon;
Sum fel in swonyng as thei were dede,
And lay still as any stone.

Non of theym were in her mynde
But only Litulle Jon.

"Let be your dule," seid Litulle Jon,
"For his luf that dyed on tre;
Ze that shulde be duzty men,
Hit is gret shame to se.

"Oure maister has bene hard bystode,
And zet scapyd away;
Pluk up your hertes and leve this mone,
And herkyn what I shal say.

"He has seruyd our lady many a day,
And zet wil securly;
Therefore I trust in her specialy
No wycked deth shal he dye.

"Therfor be glad," seid Litul Johne,
"And let this mournyng be,
And I shall be the munkes gyde,
With the myght of mylde Mary.

"And I mete hym," seid Litull Johne,
"We will go but we too

Loke that ze kepe wel our tristil tre
Vnder the levys smale,
And spare non of this venyson
That gose in thys vale."

Forthe thei went these zemen too,
Litul Johne and Moche onfere,
And lokid on Moche emys hows
The hyeway lay fulle nere.

Litul John stode at a window in the mornynge,
And lokid forth at a stage;
He was war wher the munke came ridynge,
And with him a litul page.

"Be my feith," said Litul Johne to Moche,
"I can the tel tithyngus gode;
I se wher the munk comys rydyng,
I know hym be his wyde hode."

Thei went into the way these zemen bothe
As curtes men and hende,
Thei spyrred tithyngus at the munke,
As thei hade bene his frende.

"Fro whens come ze," seid Litul Johne,
"Tel vs tithyngus, I yow pray,
Off a false owtlay [called Robyn Hode],
Was takyn zisturday.

He robbyt me and my felowes bothe
Of xx marke in serten;
If that false owtlay be takyn,
For sothe we wolde be fayne."

"So did he me," seid the munke,
"Of a C pound and more;
I layde furst hande hym apon,
Ze may thonke me therefore."

"I pray God thanke yow," seid Litulle Johne,
"And we wil when we may;
We wil go with yow, with your leve,
And brynge yow on your way.

"For Robyn Hode hase many a wilde felow,
I telle yow in certen;
If thei wist ze rode this way,
In feith ze shulde be slayn."

As thei went talkyng be the way,
The munke an Litulle Johne,
Johne toke the munkes horse be the hede
Ful sone and anone.

Johne toke the munkes horse be the hed,
For sothe as I yow say,
So did Muche the litulle page,
For he shulde not stirre away.

Be the golett of the hode
Johne pulled the munke downe;
Johne was nothynge of hym agast,
He lete hym falle on his crowne.

Litulle Johne was sore agrevyd,
And drew out his swerde in hye;
The munke saw he shulde be ded,
Lowd mercy can he crye.

"He was my maister," said Litulle Johne,
"That thou hase browzt in bale;
Shalle thou neuer cum at our kynge
For to telle hym tale."

John smote of the munkes hed,
No longer wolde he dwelle;
So did Moche the litulle page,
For ferd lest he wold tell.

Ther thei beryed hem both
In nouther mosse nor lynge,
And Litulle Johne and Muche infere
Bare the letturs to oure kyng.

"I say, so mot I the,
For sothe soche a zeman as he is on
In alle Ingland ar not thre.

"He is trew to his maister," seide oure kynge,
"I say, be swete seynt Johne;
He louys bettur Robyn Hode,
Then he dose vs ychone.

"Robyne Hode is euer bond to him,
Bothe in strete and stalle;
Speke no more of this matter," seid oure kynge,
"But John has begyled vs alle."

Thus endys the talkyng of the munke
And Robyne Hode i-wysse;
God, that is euer a crowned kyng,
Bryng vs alle to his blisse.

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