56
‘Knowest thow Robyn Hode?’ seyde the screffe,
‘Potter, y prey the tell thow me;’
‘A hundred torne y haffe schot with hem,
Vnder hes tortyll-tre.’
57
‘Y had leuer nar a hundred ponde,’ seyde þe screffe,
‘And sware be the Trenitë,
. . . . . . .
Þat the ffals outelawe stod be me.’