‘Yf it be so,’ than sayd our kynge,

‘It may no better be;

Seven nyght I gyve thee leve,

No lengre, to dwell fro me.’

444.

‘Gramercy, lorde,’ then sayd Robyn,

And set hym on his kne;

He toke his leve full courteysly,

To grene wode then went he.

445.