THE EIGHTH FYTTE.
"Haste thou ony grene cloth," sayd our kynge,
"That thou wylte sell now to me?"
"Ye, for god," sayd Robyn,
"Thyrty yerdes and thre."
"Robyn," sayd our kynge,5
"Now pray I the,
To sell me some of that cloth,
To me and my meynè."
"Yes, for [god]," then sayd Robyn,
"Or elles I were a fole;10
[Another day ye wyll me clothe,]
[I trowe, ayenst the Yole."]
The kynge kest of his cote then,
A grene garment he dyde on,
[And every knyght did so, i-wys,]15
[They clothed them full soone.]
Whan they were clothed in Lyncolne grene,
They kest away theyr graye;
"Now we shall to Notyngham,"
All thus our kynge gan say.20
Theyr bowes bente and forth they went,
Shotynge all in-fere,
Towarde the towne of Notyngham,
Outlawes as they were.
Our kynge and Robyn rode togyder,25
For soth as I you say,
And they shote plucke-buffet,
As they went by the way.
And many a buffet our kynge wan
Of Robyn Hode that day;30
And nothynge spared good Robyn
Our kynge in his pay.
"So god me helpe," sayd our kynge,
"Thy game is nought to lere;
I sholde not get a shote of the,35
Though I shote all this yere."