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A LYTELL GESTE OF EOBTN HODE. 77
It was one of the fayrest syghtes That ever yet sawe I me.
" Yonder I se a ryght fayre hart, 1&5
His coloure is of grene; Seven score of dere upon an herde
Be with hym all bedene.
" His tynde are so sharp, mayster,
Of sexty and well mo, ve
That I durst not shote for drede
Lest they wolde me sloo."
" I make myn avowe to god," sayd the sheryf,
" That syght wolde I fayn se ;" " Buske you thyderwarde, my dere mayster, i7i
Anone, and wende with me."
The sheryfe rode, and Lytell Johan
Of fote he was full smarte ; And when they came afore Robyn,
" Lo, here is the mayster harte !" is>
Styll stode the proud sheryf,
A sory man was he : " Wo worthe the, Raynolde Grenelefe !
Thou hast now betrayed me."
" I make myn avowe to god," sayd Lytell Johan, " Mayster, ye be to blame, iss
163, syght, W. sightes, C. 183, wo the worth, W. |
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