Each man was clad in Lincoln green, and a fine show they made, seated upon the sward beneath that fair, spreading tree.

Then one of them, with his mouth full, called out to Robin, "Hulloa, where goest thou, little lad, with thy one-penny bow and thy farthing shafts ?" Then Robin grew angry, for no stripling likes to be taunted with his green years.
"Now," quoth he, "my bow and eke mine arrows are as good as shine; and moreover, I go to the shooting match at Nottingham Town, which same has been proclaimed by our good Sheriff of Nottinghamshire; there I will shoot with other stout yeomen, for a prize has been offered of a fine butt of ale." Then one who held a horn of ale in his hand said, "Ho! listen to the lad! Why, boy, thy mother's milk is yet scarce dry upon thy lips, and yet thou pratest of standing up with good stout men at Nottingham butts, thou who art scarce able to draw one string of a two-stone bow." "I'll hold the best of you twenty marks," quoth bold Robin, "that I hit the clout at threescore rods, by the good help of Our Lady fair." At this all laughed aloud, and one said, "Well boasted, thou fair infant, well boasted! And well thou knowest that no target is nigh to make good thy wager." And another cried, "He will be taking ale with his milk next." At this Robin grew right mad.

"Hark ye," said he, "yonder, at the glade's end, I see a herd of deer, even more than threescore rods distant.

I'll hold you twenty marks that, by leave of Our Lady, I cause the best hart among them to die." "Now done!" cried he who had spoken first.

"And here are twenty marks.