ROBIN HODE.
Lyttle John, where art thou?
LYTTEL [JOHN].
Here, mayster, I make god a vowe.
I tolde you, mayster, so god me save,
[That you shoulde fynde the potter a knave.]
Holde your buckeler faste in your hande,
And I wyll styfly by you stande,
Ready for to fyghte;200
Be the knave never so stoute,
I shall rappe him on the snoute,
And put hym to flyghte.
[35], maister, C.
[64] ell, C.
[70] You, you, C.
[82], donee, C.
[104], starte, C.
[117], shefes, C.