58
‘And ye well do afftyr mey red,’ seyde þe potter,
‘And boldeley go with me,
And to morow, or we het bred,
Roben Hode well we se.’
59
‘Y wel queyt the,’ kod the screffe,
‘Y swere be God of meythe;’
Schetyng thay left, and hom þey went,
Her soper was reddy deythe.