Now bills and bows I and out a-gate! And turn about on the lily lea! And though their company be great The grey-goose wing shall set us free. Now bent is the bow in the green abode And the king's writ knoweth not the road. 

Now bills and bows I and out a-gate!

And turn about on the lily lea!

And though their company be great

The grey-goose wing shall set us free.

Now bent is the bow in the green abode

And the king's writ knoweth not the road.

 So over the mead and over the hithe, And away to the wild-wood wend we forth; There dwell we yeomen bold and blithe Where the Sheriff's word is nought of worth. Bent is the bow on the lily lea Betwixt the thorn and the oaken tree. 

So over the mead and over the hithe,

And away to the wild-wood wend we forth;

There dwell we yeomen bold and blithe

Where the Sheriff's word is nought of worth.

Bent is the bow on the lily lea

Betwixt the thorn and the oaken tree.

 But here the song dropped suddenly, and one of the men held up his hand as who would say, Hist! Then through the open window came the sound of another song, gradually swelling as though sung by men on the march. This time the melody was a piece of the plain-song of the church, familiar enough to me to bring back to my mind the great arches of some cathedral in France and the canons singing in the choir. 

 All leapt up and hurried to take their bows from wall and corner; and some had bucklers withal, circles of leather, boiled and then moulded into shape and hardened: these were some two hand-breadths across, with iron or brass bosses in the centre. Will Green went to the corner where the bills leaned against the wall and handed them round to the first-comers as far as they would go, and out we all went gravely and quietly into the village street and the fair sunlight of the calm afternoon, now beginning to turn towards evening. None had said anything since we first heard the new-come 

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