111. ‘By dere worthy God,’ then sayd the knyght, ‘That all this worldë wrought, But I have my londe agayne, Full dere it shall be bought. 112. ‘God, that was of a mayden borne, Leve us well to spede! For it is good to assay a frende Or that a man have nede.’ 113. The abbot lothely on hym gan loke, And vylaynesly hym gan call; ‘Out,’ he sayd, ‘thou false knyght, Spede thee out of my hall!’ 114. ‘Thou lyest,’ then sayd the gentyll knyght, ‘Abbot, in thy hal; False knyght was I never, By God that made us all.’ 115. Up then stode that gentyll knyght, To the abbot sayd he, ‘To suffre a knyght to knele so longe, Thou canst no curteysye. 116. ‘In joustës and in tournement Full ferre than have I be, And put myself as ferre in prees As ony that ever I se.’ 117. ‘What wyll ye gyve more,’ sayd the justyce, ‘And the knyght shall make a releyse? And ellës dare I safly swere Ye holde never your londe in pees.’ 118. ‘An hondred pounde,’ sayd the abbot; The justice sayd, ‘Gyve hym two’; ‘Nay, be God,’ sayd the knyght, ‘Yit gete ye it not so. 119. ‘Though ye wolde gyve a thousand more, Yet were ye never the nere; Shal there never be myn heyre Abbot, justice, ne frere.’ 120. He stert hym to a borde anone, Tyll a table rounde, And there he shoke oute of a bagge Even four hundred pound. 121. ‘Have here thi golde, sir abbot,’ saide the knight, ‘Which that thou lentest me; Had thou ben curtes at my comynge, Rewarded shuldest thou have be.’ 122. The abbot sat styll, and ete no more, For all his ryall fare; He cast his hede on his shulder, And fast began to stare. 123. ‘Take me my golde agayne,’ saide the abbot, ‘Sir justice, that I toke thee.’ ‘Not a peni,’ said the justice, ‘Bi God, that dyed on tree.’ 124. ‘Sir abbot, and ye men of lawe, Now have I holde my daye: Now shall I have my londe agayne, For ought that you can saye.’ 125. The knyght stert out of the dore, Awaye was all his care, And on he put his good clothynge, The other he lefte there. 126. He wente hym forth full mery syngynge, As men have tolde in tale; His lady met hym at the gate, At home in Verysdale. 127. ‘Welcome, my lorde,’ sayd his lady; ‘Syr, lost is all your good?’ ‘Be mery, dame,’ sayd the knyght, ‘And pray for Robyn Hode, 128. ‘That ever his soulë be in blysse: He holpe me out of tene; Ne had be his kyndënesse, Beggers had we bene. 129. ‘The abbot and I accorded ben, He is served of his pay; The god yoman lent it me As I cam by the way.’ 130. This knight than dwelled fayre at home, The sothë for to saye, Tyll he had gete four hundred pound, Al redy for to pay.