"Na-y, by God," said the knight,
"Yet get ye it not so:
Though ye would give a thousand more,
Yet were thou never the nere;
Shall there never be mine heir,
Abb-ot, just-ice, ne frere."
He stert him to a board anon,
To a table round,
And there he shook out of a bag
Even fo-ur hundred pound.
"Have here thy gold, sir abb-ot," said the knight,
"Which that thou lentest me;
Haddest thou been curteys at my com-ing,
Rewarded shouldst thou have be."
The abb-ot sat still, and ate no more.
For all his royal cheer,
He cast his hood on his should-er,
And fast began to stare.
"Take me my gold again," said the abb-ot,
"Sir just-ice, that I took thee."
"Not a penny," said the just-ice,
"By him that died on a tree."
"Sir abbot, and ye men of law,
Now have I held my day,
Now shall I have my land again,
For aught that you can say."
The knight stert out of the door,
Away was all his care,
And on he put his good cloth-ing,
The other he left there.
He went him forth full merry sing-ing,
As men have told in tale,
His lady met him at the gate,
At home in Uterysdale.
"Welc-ome, my lord," said his lady;
"Sir, lost is all your good?"
"Be merry, dam-e," said the knight,
"And pray for Robin Hood,
That ever his soul-e be in bliss,
He holp me out of my tene;
Ne had not be his kind-enesse,
Beggars had we been.
The abb-ot and I accorded ben,
He is served of his pay,
The good yeoman lent it me,
As I came by the way."
This knight then dwell-ed fair at home,
The sooth for to say,
Till he had got four hundred pound,
All ready for to pay.
He p-urveyed him an hundred bows,
The string-es well ydight,
An hundred sheaf of arrows good,
The heads burn-ished full bright,
And every arrow an ell-e long,
With peacock well ydight,
I-nock-ed all with white silv-er,
It was a seemly sight.
He p-urveyed him an hundred men,
Well harneysed in that stead,
And h-imself in that sam-e set,
And clothed in white and red.
He bare a launsgay in his hand,
And a man led his male,
And ridden with a light song,
Unto Barnisdale.
As he went at a bridge there was a wresteling,
And there tarried was he,
And there was all the best yeom-en
Of all the west countree.
A full fair game there was upset,
A white bull up i-pight;
A great cours-er with saddle and bridle,
With gold burn-ished full bright;
A pair of gloves, a red gold ring,
A pipe of wine, in good fay:
What man beareth him best, i-wis,
The prize shall bear away.
There was a yeoman in that place,
And best worth-y was he.
And for he was ferre and fremd bestad,
I-slain he should have be.
The knight had ruth of this yeom-an,
In place where that he stood,
He said that yeoman should have no harm,
For love of Robin Hood.
The knight press-ed into the place,
An hundred followed him free,
With bow-es bent, and arrows sharp,
For to shend that company.
They shouldered all, and made him room,
To wete what he would say,
He took the yeoman by the hand,
And gave him all the play;
He gave him five mark for his wine,
There it lay on the mould,
And bade it should be set abroach,
Drink-e who so would.
Thus long tarried this gentle knight,
Till that play was done,
So long abode Rob-in fasting,
Three hours after the none.