And bere a buffet on his hede
I wys[203] ryght all bare.
And all that fell in Robyns lote,
He smote them wonder sare.
Twyse Robyn shot aboute,
And ever he cleved the wande,
And so dyde good Gylberte,
With the whyte[204] hand.
Lytell Johan and good Scathelocke,
For nothyng wolde they spare,