FRYER.
Blowe on, ragged knave, without any doubte,
Untyll bothe thyne eyes starte out.
Here be a sorte of ragged knaves come in,
Clothed all in Kendale grene,
And to the they take their way nowe.
ROBYN HODE.
Peradventure they do so.100
FRYER.
I gave the leve to blowe at thy wyll,
Now give me leve to whistell my fyll.
ROBYN HODE.
Whystell, frere, evyl mote thou fare,
Untyll bothe thyne eyes [stare].
FRYER.
Now Cut and Bause!
Breng forth the clubbes and staves,
And downe with those ragged knaves!