Yonder I se a ryght fayre hart,
His coloure is of grene,
Seven score of dere upon an herde
Be with hym all bedene ;
His tynde are so sharp, maystèr,
Of sexty and well mo,
That I durst not shote for drede
Lest they wolde me sloo.”
I make myn avowe to god, sayd the sheryf,
That syght wolde I fayn se.