Ryght as he were abbot-lyke,
They rode up in-to the towne.
Styf botes our kynge had on,
Forsoth as I you say,
He rode syngynge to grene wode,
The covent was clothed in graye,
His male hors, and his grete somèrs,
Folowed our kynge behynde,
Tyll they came to grene wode,
A myle under the lynde,