And sticked itt upon his bowes end :
“Thou hast beene a traytor all thy life,
Which thing must have an end.” {123}
Robin pulled forth an Irish knife,
And nicked sir Guy in the face,
That he was never on woman born
Cold tell whose head it was.
Sayes, Lye there, lye there, now sir Guye,
And with me be not wrothe ;
Iff thou have had the worst strokes at my hand,