For doute I sholde hym greue.’
407
‘Smyte on boldely,’ sayd Robyn,
‘I giue the largë leue:’
Anone our kynge, with that worde,
He folde vp his sleue,
408
And sych a buffet he gaue Robyn,
To grounde he yede full nere:
‘I make myn avowe to God,’ sayd Robyn,