9
‘Of all my mery men,’ seid Robyn,
‘Be my feith I wil non haue,
But Litull John shall beyre my bow,
Til þat me list to drawe.’
10
‘Þou shall beyre þin own,’ seid Litull Jon,
‘Maister, and I wyl beyre myne,
And we well shete a peny,’ seid Litull Jon,
‘Vnder þe grene-wode lyne.’