They filled in wyne, and made him glad
Vndur the levys smale,
And zete pastes of venysone
That gode was ‘withal.’ [358]
Than worde came to our kynge,
How Robyn Hode was gone,
And how the scheref of Notyngham
Durst neuer loke hyme vpone.
Then bespake oure cumly kynge,
In an angur hye,