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A LTTELL GESTE OP EOBYN HODE. 113
" Now shalte thou se what life we lede, ik
Or thou hens wende ; Than thou may enfourme our kynge,
Whan ye togyder lende."
Up they sterte all in hast,
Theyr howes were smartly bent; iro
Our kynge was never so sore agast,
He wende to have be shente.
Two yerdes there were up set,
There to gan they gange ; By fifty pase, our kynge sayd, im
The merkes were to longe.
On every syde a rose garlonde,
They shot under the lyne : "Who so fayleth of the rose garlonde," sayd Robyn,
" His takyll he shall tyne, iao
" And yelde it to his mayster,
Be it never so fyne ; For no man wyll I spare.
So drynke I ale or wyne ;—
" And bere a buffet on his hede, iss
I-wys right all bare:"
186. A wys, \V. For that shall be his fyne, C. VOL. V. 8 |
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