ROBYN HODE.
How sayest thou, frere, wylt thou be my man,
To do me the best servyse thou can?
Thou shalt have both golde and fee,110
And also here is a lady free,
I wyll geve her unto the,
And her chapplayn I the make,
To serve her for my sake.
FRYER.
Here is a huckle duckle, an inch above the buckle;
She is a trul of trust, to serve a frier at his lust,
A prycker, a prauncer, a terer of [shetes],
A wagger of [buttockes] when other men slepes.
Go home, ye knaves, and lay crabbes in the fyre,
For my lady and I wil daunce in the myre,120
For veri pure joye.
ROBYN HODE.
Lysten, to [me], my mery men all,
And harke what I shall say;
Of an adventure I shall you tell,
That befell this other daye.
With a proude potter I met,
And a rose garlande on his head,
The floures of it shone marvaylous freshe;
This seven yere and more he hath used this waye,
Yet was he never so curteyse a potter,130
As one peny passage to paye.
Is there any of my mery men all
That dare be so bolde
To make the potter paie passage,
Either silver or golde?
LYTELL JOHN.
Not I master, for twenty pound redy tolde,
For there is not among us al one
That dare medle with that potter, man for man.
I felt his handes not long agone,
But I had lever have ben here by the,140
Therfore I knowe what he is.
Mete him when ye wil, or mete him whan ye shal,
He is as propre a man as ever you medle withal.
ROBYN HODE.
I will lai with the, Litel John, twenti pound so read,
If I wyth that potter mete,
I wil make him pay passage, maugre his head.