‘Robyn, nowe pray I thee,
Smyte of min hede rather to-morrowe,
And I forgyve it thee.
201.
‘Lat me go,’ than sayde the sherif,
‘For sayntë charitë,
And I woll be the bestë frende
That ever yet had ye.’
202.
202.3 ‘awayte me scathe,’ lie in wait to do me harm.