Avaunt, ye ragged knave!
Or ye shall have on the skynne. 60
ROBYN HODE.
Of all the men in the morning thou art the worst, To mete with the I have no lust; For he that meteth a frere or a fox in the morning, To spede ill that day he standeth in jeoperdy.[L64]
Therfore I had lever mete with the devil of hell, (Fryer, I tell the as I thinke,) Then mete with a fryer or a fox In a mornyng, or I drynk.
FRYER.
Avaunt, thou ragged knave, this is but a mock; If thou make mani words thou shal have a knock.[L70] 70
ROBYN HODE.
Harke, frere, what I say here: Over this water thou shalt me bere, The brydge is borne away.
FRYER.
To say naye I wyll not: To let the of thine oth it were great pitie and sin, But up on a fryers backe, and have even in.
ROBYN HODE.
Nay, have over.
FRYER.
Now am I, frere, within, and thou, Robin, without, To lay the here I have no great doubt.
Now art thou, Robyn, without, and I, frere, within, 80 Lye ther, knave; chose whether thou wilte sinke or swym.
ROBYN HODE.
Why, thou lowsy frere, what hast thou done?[L82]
FRYER.
Mary, set a knave over the shone.
ROBYN HODE.
Therfore thou shalt abye.
FRYER.
Why, wylt thou fyght a plucke?
ROBYN HODE.
And god send me good lucke.
FRYER.
Than have a stroke for fryer Tucke.
ROBYN HODE.
Holde thy hande, frere, and here me speke.
FRYER.
Say on, ragged knave, Me semeth ye begyn to swete. 90
ROBYN HODE.
In this forest I have a hounde, I wyl not give him for an hundreth pound.
Geve me leve my home to blowe, That my hounde may knowe.
FRYER.
Blowe on, ragged knave, without any doubte, Untyll bothe thyne eyes starte out.
Here be a sorte of ragged knaves come in, Clothed all in Kendale grene, And to the they take their way nowe.
ROBYN HODE.
Peradventure they do so. 100
FRYER.
I gave the leve to blowe at thy wyll, Now give me leve to whistell my fyll.
ROBYN HODE.
Whystell, frere, evyl mote thou fare, Untyll bothe thyne eyes stare[L104].
FRYER.
Now Cut and Bause!
Breng forth the clubbes and staves, And downe with those ragged knaves!
ROBYN HODE.
How sayest thou, frere, wylt thou be my man, To do me the best servyse thou can?
Thou shalt have both golde and fee, 110 And also here is a lady free, I wyll geve her unto the, And her chapplayn I the make, To serve her for my sake.
FRYER.
Here is a huckle duckle, an inch above the buckle; She is a trul of trust, to serve a frier at his lust, A prycker, a prauncer, a terer of shetes,[L117]
A wagger of buttockes[L118] when other men slepes.
Go home, ye knaves, and lay crabbes in the fyre, For my lady and I wil daunce in the myre, 120 For veri pure joye.