By my truth my knave shall he be,
And leade these dogges all three.
45
ROBYN HODE
Yelde the, fryer, in thy long cote.
FRYER TUCKE
I beshrew thy hart, knave, thou hurtest my throt[e].
ROBYN HODE
I trowe, fryer, thou beginnest to dote;
Who made the so malapert and so bolde