"Till Robyn fayled of the garlonde,
Three fyngers and mair."
Then good Gilbert bids him in his turn
"'Stand forth and take his pay.'
"'If it be so,' sayd Robyn,
'That may no better be,
Syr Abbot, I delyver thee myn arrowe,
I pray thee, Syr, serve thou me.'
"'It falleth not for myne order,' saith the kynge,
'Robyn, by thy leve,
For to smyte no good yeman,
For doute I should hym greve.'
"'Smyte on boldly,' sayd Robyn,
'I give thee large leve.'
Anon our kynge, with that word,
He folde up his sleve.
"And such a buffet he gave Robyn,
To grounde he yode full nere.
'I make myn avowe,' sayd Robyn,
'Thou art a stalwarte frere.
"'There is pyth in thyn arme,' sayd Robyn,
'I trowe thou canst well shoote.'
Thus our kynge and Hobyn Hode
Together they are met."
Hard knocks in good humor, strict rules, fair play, and equal justice, for
high and low; this was the old outlaw spirit, which has descended to their
inlawed descendants; and makes, to this day, the life and marrow of an
English public school.
One fixed idea the outlaw had,--hatred of the invader. If "his herde were
the king's deer," "his treasure was the earl's purse"; and still oftener
the purse of the foreign churchman, Norman or Italian, who had expelled
the outlaw's English cousins from their convents; shamefully scourged and
cruelly imprisoned them, as the blessed Archbishop Lanfranc did at
Canterbury, because they would not own allegiance to a French abbot; or
murdered them at the high altar, as did the new abbot of Glastonbury,
because they would not change their old Gregorian chant for that of
William of Fecamp.
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