50 ‘Now schall y wet and thow be god, And polle het op to they ner_e_;’ ‘So god me helpe,’ seyde the prowde pott_er_, ‘Þys ys bot rygȝt weke ger_e_.’ 51 To a quequer Roben went, A god bolt owthe he toke; So ney on to the marke he went, He ffayled not a fothe. 52 All they schot abowthe agen, The screffes men and he; Off the marke he welde not ffayle, He cleffed the preke on thre. 53 The screffes men thowt gret schame The pott_er_ the mastry wan; The screffë lowe and made god game, And seyde, Pott_er_, thow art a man. 54 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Thow art worthey to ber_e_ a bowe Yn what plas that þow goe. 55 ‘Yn mey cart y haffe a bowe, Ffor soyt,’ he seyde, ‘and that a godde; Yn mey cart ys the bow That gaffe me Robyn Hode.’ 56 ‘Knowest thow Robyn Hode?’ seyde the screffe, ‘Pott_er_, y prey the tell thow me;’ ‘A hundred torne y haffe schot w_i_t_h_ hem, Vnder hes tortyll-tre.’ 57 ‘Y had leuer nar a hundred ponde,’ seyde þe screffe, ‘And swar_e_ be the Trenitë, . . . . . . . Þ_a_t the ffals outelawe stod be me.’ 58 ‘And ye well do afftyr mey red,’ seyde þe pott_er_, ‘And boldeley go w_i_t_h_ me, And to morow, or we het bred, Roben Hode well we se.’ 59 ‘Y wel queyt the,’ kod the screffe, ‘Y swer_e_ be God of meythe;’ Schetyng thay left, and hom þey went, Her soper was reddy deythe. 60 Vpon the morow, when het was day, He boskyd hem fforthe to reyde; The pott_er_ hes cart fforthe gan ray, And wolde not leffe beheynde. 61 He toke leffe of the screffys wyffe, And thankyd her of all thyng: ‘Dam, ffor mey loffe and ye well þys wer_e_, Y geffe yow her_e_ a golde ryng.’ 62 ‘Gramarsey,’ seyde the weyffe, ‘Ser, god eylde het the;’ The screffes hart was neuer so leythe, The ffeyr_e_ fforeyst to se. 63 And when he cam yn to the fforeyst, Yonder the leffes grene, Berdys ther_e_ sange on bowhes prest, Het was gret goy to se. 64 ‘Her_e_ het ys merey to be,’ seyde Roben, ‘Ffor a man that had hawt to spende; Be mey horne I schall awet Yeff Roben Hode be her_e_.’ 65 Roben set hes horne to hes mowthe, And blow a blast þ_a_t was ffoll god; Þ_a_t herde hes men þ_a_t þer_e_ stode, Ffer downe yn the wodde. 66 ‘I her mey mast_er_ blow,’ seyde Leytell John, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . They ran as thay wer_e_ wode. 67 Whan thay to thar mast_er_ cam, Leytell John wold not spar_e_; ‘Mast_er_, how haffe yow ffar_e_ yn Notynggam? How haffe yow solde yowr_e_ war_e_?’ 68 ‘Ye, be mey trowthe, Leyty[ll] John, Loke thow take no car_e_; Y haffe browt the screffe of Notynggam, Ffor all howr_e_ chaffar_e_.’