human
Methought they did mee beate and binde, And tooke my bowe mee froe; Iff I be Robin alive in this lande, 15 Ile be wroken on them towe.
gpt
Sweavens are swift, master, quoth John,
human
As the wind that blowes ore a hill; For iff itt be never so loude this night, To-morrow itt may be still.
gpt
Buske yee, bowne yee, my merry men all, And John shall goe with mee, For Ile goe seeke yond wight yeomèn, In greenwood where they bee.