206. ‘Go we to dyner,’ sayde Littell Johnn; Robyn Hode sayde, ‘Nay; For I drede Our Lady be wroth with me, For she sent me nat my pay.’ 207. ‘Have no doute, maister,’ sayde Litell Johnn; ‘Yet is nat the sonne at rest; For I dare say, and savely swere. The knight is true and truste.’ 208. ‘Take thy bowe in thy hande,’ sayde Robyn, ‘Late Much wende with thee, And so shal Wyllyam Scarlok, And no man abyde with me. 209. ‘And walke up under the Sayles, And to Watlynge-strete, And wayte after some unketh gest; Up chaunce ye may them mete. 210. ‘Whether he be messengere, Or a man that myrthës can, Of my good he shall have some, Yf he be a porë man.’ 211. Forth then stert Lytel Johan, Half in tray and tene, And gyrde hym with a full good swerde, Under a mantel of grene. 212. They went up to the Sayles, These yemen all thre; They loked est, they loked west, They myght no man se. 213. But as they loked in Bernysdale, By the hyë waye, Than were they ware of two blacke monkes, Eche on a good palferay. 214. Then bespake Lytell Johan, To Much he gan say, ‘I dare lay my lyfe to wedde, That these monkes have brought our pay. 215. ‘Make glad chere,’ sayd Lytell Johan, ‘And frese your bowes of ewe, And loke your hertes be seker and sad, Your strynges trusty and trewe. 216. ‘The monke hath two and fifty men, And seven somers full stronge; There rydeth no bysshop in this londe So ryally, I understond. 217. ‘Brethern,’ sayd Lytell Johan, ‘Here are no more but we thre; But we bryngë them to dyner, Our mayster dare we not se. 218. ‘Bende your bowes,’ sayd Lytell Johan, ‘Make all yon prese to stonde; The formost monke, his lyfe and his deth Is closëd in my honde. 219. ‘Abyde, chorle monke,’ sayd Lytell Johan, ‘No ferther that thou gone; Yf thou doost, by dere worthy God, Thy deth is in my honde. 220. ‘And evyll thryfte on thy hede,’ sayd Lytell Johan, ‘Ryght under thy hattë’s bonde, For thou hast made our mayster wroth, He is fastynge so longe.’ 221. ‘Who is your mayster?’ sayd the monke. Lytell Johan sayd, ‘Robyn Hode.’ ‘He is a stronge thefe,’ sayd the monke, ‘Of hym herd I never good.’ 222. ‘Thou lyest,’ than sayd Lytell Johan, ‘And that shall rewë thee; He is a yeman of the forest, To dyne he hath bodë thee.’ 223. Much was redy with a bolte, Redly and anone, He set the monke to-fore the brest, To the grounde that he can gone. 224. Of two and fyfty wyght yonge yemen, There abode not one, Saf a lytell page and a grome, To lede the somers with Lytel Johan. 225. They brought the monke to the lodgë-dore, Whether he were loth or lefe, For to speke with Robyn Hode, Maugre in theyr tethe.