“Syr, never one wyll me know ; [133]
Whyle I was ryche inow at home
Grete bost then wolde they blowe,
And now they renne awaye fro me,
As bestes on a rowe ;
They take no more heed of me
Then they me never sawe.” [134] {13}
For ruthe then wepte Lytell Johan,
Scathelocke and Much ‘in fere.’ [135]
Fyll of the best wyne,[136] sayd Robyn,