Of the fryer to beg a boone.
"A boone, a boone, thou curtail fryer,
I beg it on my knee;
Give me leave to set my horn to my mouth
And to blow blastes three."
The friar consented contemptuously, for he had got the better of the fight; so Robin blew his "blastes three," and presently fifty of his yeomen made their appearance. It was now the friar's turn to ask a favour.
"A boone, a boone," said the curtail fryer,
"The like I gave to thee:
Give me leave to set my fist to my mouth
And to whute whues three."