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,