Our Dickon for to slay.
"But Dickon goodhap he was not there,
And Robin he rode in vain,
And the men got up that were kneeling in prayer,
To take him by might and main.
"Rob swung his sword, his steed he spurred,
He plunged right through the thrang.
But the stout smith Jock, with his old mother's crutch[5],
He gave him a woundy bang.
"So hard he smote the iron pot,