Two rods there were up-set,
Thereto began to go;
By fifty paces, our king said,
The marks were too long.

On every side a rose-garlonde,
They shot under the trees;
"Who so faileth of the rose-garlonde," said Robin,
"His tackle he shall tyne,

"And yield it to his master,
Be it never so fine;
For no man will I spare,
So drink I ale or wine:

"And bear a buffet on his head,
Iwis right all bare."
And all that fell in Robin's lot,
He smote them wonder sore.

Twice Robyn shot a bout,
And ever he cleaved the wand,
And so did good Gilbert
With the White Hand.

Lines 1585-1604 from A Gest of Robyn Hode