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A LTTELL GESTE OF ROBYN HODE. 121
It is of Mary Magdalene, And thereto wolde I be.
" I myght never in this seven nyght
No tyme to slepe ne wynke, Nother all these seven dayes 95
Nother ete ne drynke.
"Me longeth sore to Bernysdale,
I may not be therfro; Barefote and wohvarde I have hyght
Thyder for to go." 100
" Yf it be so," than sayd our kynge,
" It may no better be ; Seven nyght I gyve the leve,
No lengre, to dwell fro me."
" Gramercy, lorde," then sayd Robyn, 105
And set hym on his kne ; He toke his leve full courteysly,
To grene wode then went he.
Whan he came to grene wode,
In a mery mornynge, no
There he herde the notes small
Of byrdes mery syngynge.
" It is ferre gone," sayd Robyn, " That I was last here ;