Ballads, English -- England -- Texts; Songs, English -- England -- Texts
The abb-ot loathl-y on him gan look,
And villainousl-y gan call;
"Out," he said, "thou fals-e knight!
Speed thee out of my hall!"
"Thou liest," then said the gentle knight,
"Abbot in thy hall;
Fals-e knight was I nev-er,
By him that made us all."
Up then stood that gentle knight,
To the abb-ot said he,
"To suffer a knight to kneel so long,
Thou canst no courtes-y.
In joust-es and in tournem-ent
Full far then have I be,
And put myself as far in press
As any that e'er I see."
"What will ye give more?" said the just-ice,
"And the knight shall make a release;
And ell-es dare I safely swear
Ye hold never your land in peace."
"An hundred pound," said the abb-ot.
The justice said, "Give him two."
"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."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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