"Mercy," then Robyn sayd to our kynge, Under his trystyll tre,[L234] "Of thy goodnesse and thy grace, 235 For my men and me! "Yes, for god," sayd Robyn, "And also god me save; I aske mercy, my lorde the kynge, And for my men I crave." 240 "Yes, for god," than sayd our kynge, "Thy peticion I graunt the, With that thou leve the grene wode, And all thy company; "And come home, syr, to my courte, 245 And there dwell with me."[L246] "I make myn avowe to god," sayd Robyn, "And ryght so shall it be. "I wyll come to your courte, Your servyse for to se, 250 And brynge with me of my men Seven score and thre. "But me lyke well your servyse, I come agayne full soone, And shote at the donne dere, 255 As I am wonte to done." 4, and yf, W. 15. Not in Cumberland, as Ritson states, but, says Hunter, a part of the forest of Knaresborough, in Yorkshire. 59, your, OCC. 72, blyth, Ritson. 96. Under the grene wode tre, W. 112. I vouche it halfe on the, W. 125, seale, C. 160, and browne, W. 186. A wys, W. For that shall be his fyne, C. 192, good whyte, W. lilly white, C. 234. Your, Ritson. 246. And therto sent I me, W. THE EIGHTH FYTTE. "Haste thou ony grene cloth," sayd our kynge, "That thou wylte sell now to me?" "Ye, for god," sayd Robyn, "Thyrty yerdes and thre." "Robyn," sayd our kynge, 5 "Now pray I the, To sell me some of that cloth, To me and my meynè." "Yes, for god," then sayd Robyn,[L9] "Or elles I were a fole; 10 Another day ye wyll me clothe,[L11] I trowe, ayenst the Yole."[L12] The kynge kest of his cote then, A grene garment he dyde on, And every knyght did so, i-wys,[L15] 15 They clothed them full soone.[L16] Whan they were clothed in Lyncolne grene, They kest away theyr graye; "Now we shall to Notyngham," All thus our kynge gan say. 20 Theyr bowes bente and forth they went, Shotynge all in-fere, Towarde the towne of Notyngham, Outlawes as they were. Our kynge and Robyn rode togyder, 25 For soth as I you say, And they shote plucke-buffet, As they went by the way. And many a buffet our kynge wan Of Robyn Hode that day; 30 And nothynge spared good Robyn Our kynge in his pay. "So god me helpe," sayd our kynge, "Thy game is nought to lere; I sholde not get a shote of the, 35 Though I shote all this yere."