If ye will set me fair and free, And do me no more dear, An hundred pounds I will you give, And much more odd silvèr, That I have gather’d this many years, Under this clouted cloak, And hid up wonder privately, In bottom of my poke. The young men to the council yeed,[262] And let the beggar gae ; They wist full well he had no speed From them to run away. They thought they would the money take, Come after what so may ; And yet they would not take him back, But in that place him slay. By that good Robin would not know That they had gotten coin, It would content him [well] to show That there they had him slain, {110} They said, False carel, soon have done, And tell forth thy monèy, For the ill turn that thou hast done It’s but a simple plee. And yet we will not have thee back, Come after what so may, If thou will do that which thou spak,[263] And make us present pay. O then he loosed his clouted clock, And spread it on the ground, And thereon lay he many a poke, Betwixt them and the wind. He took a great bag from his hals,[264] It was near full of meal, Two pecks in it at least there was, And more, I wot full well. Upon this cloak he set it down, The mouth he opened wide, To turn the same he made him bown,[265] The young men ready spy’d ; In every hand he took a nook Of that great leathren ‘mail,’[266] And with a fling the meal he shook Into their face all hail : {111} Wherewith he blinded them so close, A stime they could not see ; And then in heart he did rejoice, And clap’d his lusty tree. He thought if he had done them wrong, In mealing of their cloaths,[267] For to strike off the meal again With his pyke-staff he goes. E’er any of them could red their een, Or a glimmring might see, Ilke one of them a dozen had, Well laid on with his tree. The young men were right swift of foot, And boldly bound away, The beggar could them no more hit, For all the haste he may. What’s all this haste ? the beggar said, May not you[268] tarry still, Untill your money be received ? I’ll pay you with good will. The shaking of my pokes, I fear, Hath blown into your een ; But I have a good pyke-staff here Can ripe them out full clean. {112} The young men answered never a word, They were dum as a stane ; In the thick wood the beggar fled, E’er they riped their een : And syne the night became so late, To seek him was in vain : But judge ye if they looked blate When they cam home again. Good Robin speer’d how they had sped.[269] They answered him, Full ill. That can not be, good Robin says, Ye have been at the mill. The mill it is a meat-rife part, They may lick what they please, Most like ye have been at the art, Who would look at your ‘claiths.’[270]