Now stand ye forth, my mery men all, And harke what I shall say; Of an adventure I shal you tell, The which befell this other day. As I went by the hygh way, 5 With a stout frere I met, And a quarter-staffe in his hande. Lyghtely to me he lept, And styll he bade me stande. There were strypes two or three, 10 But I cannot tell who had the worse, But well I wote the horeson lept within me, And fro me he toke my purse. Is there any of my mery men all That to that frere wyll go, 15 And bryng hym to me forth withall, Whether he wyll or no? LYTELL JOHN Yes, mayster, I make God avowe, To that frere wyll I go, And bring him to you, 20 Whether he wyl or no. FRYER TUCKE _Deus hic! deus hic!_ God be here! Is not this a holy worde for a frere? God save all this company! But am not I a jolly fryer? 25 For I can shote both farre and nere, And handle the sworde and buckler, And this quarter-staffe also. If I mete with a gentylman or yeman, I am not afrayde to loke hym upon, 30 Nor boldly with him to carpe; If he speake any wordes to me, He shall have strypes two or thre, That shal make his body smarte. But, maisters, to shew you the matter 35 Wherfore and why I am come hither, In fayth I wyll not spare. I am come to seke a good yeman, In Bernisdale men sai is his habitacion, His name is Robyn Hode. 40 And if that he be better man than I, His servaunt wyll I be, and serve him truely; But if that I be better man than he, By my truth my knave shall he be, And leade these dogges all three. 45 ROBYN HODE Yelde the, fryer, in thy long cote. FRYER TUCKE I beshrew thy hart, knave, thou hurtest my throt[e]. ROBYN HODE I trowe, fryer, thou beginnest to dote; Who made the so malapert and so bolde To come into this forest here, 50 Amonge my falowe dere? FRYER Go louse the, ragged knave. If thou make mani wordes, I will geve the on the eare, Though I be but a poore fryer. To seke Robyn Hode I am com here, 55 And to him my hart to breke. ROBYN HODE Thou lousy frer, what wouldest thou with hym? He never loved fryer, nor none of freiers kyn. FRYER Avaunt, ye ragged knave! Or ye shall have on the skynne. 60 ROBYN HODE