Abyde and speake with me,
Of some tydynges of our kynge,
I wolde fayne here of the.
This seven yere, by dere worthy god,
Ne yede I so fast on fote,
I make myn avowe to god, thou proud sheryfe,
‘It’ [194] is not for thy good. {62}
Robyn bent a good bowe,
An arrowe he drewe at his wyll,
He hyt so the proud sheryf,