And let thy quarrel fall ;
For here we may thrash our bones all to mesh,
And get no coyn at all :
And in the forrest of merry Sherwood
Heareafter thou shalt be free.
“God a mercy for ‘nought,’ my freedom I bought,
I may thank my staff, and not thee.”
What tradesman art thou ? said jolly Robìn,
Good fellow, I prithee me show ;
And also me tell, in what place thou dost dwel :