Robyn behelde our comly kynge

Wystly in the face,

So dyde syr Richarde at the Le,

And kneled downe in that place ;

And so dyde all the wylde outlawes,

Whan they se them knele.

“My lorde the kynge of Englonde,

Now I knowe you well.”

Mercy, then Robyn sayd to our kynge,

Under your trystyll tre,