“He shall not go scot-free,” the others reply’d;
So strait they were seizing him there,
To duck him likewise; but Robin Hood cries,
“He is a stout fellow, forbear.
“There’s no one shall wrong thee, friend, be not afraid;
These bowmen upon me do wait;
There’s threescore and nine; if thou wilt be mine,
Thou shalt have my livery strait.
“And other accoutrements fit for a man;
Speak up, jolly blade, never fear;