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The date of the year, and date also, She made to be set on there, That all that by that way did go, Might see it plan appear; That such a man as Robin Hood, Was buried in that place: And how he liv'd in the green wood, And robb'd there for a space.

It seems that tho' the clergy he                 Had put to muckle woe, He should not quite forgotten be, Altho' he was their foe: This woman tho; she did him hate, Yet lov'd his memory; And thought it a wonderous pity that His fame with him should die.

His epitaph, as records tell, Within these hundred years, By many was discerned well, But time all thing out-wears. His followers, when he was dead, Were some received to graces; The rest to foreign countries fled, And left their native place.