226. Robyn dyde adowne his hode, The monke whan that he se; The monke was not so curteyse, His hode then let he be. 227. ‘He is a chorle, mayster, by dere worthy God,’ Than sayd Lytell Johan. ‘Thereof no force,’ sayd Robyn, ‘For curteysy can he none. 228. ‘How many men,’ sayd Robyn, ‘Had this monke, Johan?’ ‘Fyfty and two whan that we met, But many of them be gone.’ 229. ‘Let blowe a horne,’ sayd Robyn, ‘That felaushyp may us knowe.’ Seven score of wyght yemen, Came pryckynge on a rowe. 230. And everych of them a good mantell Of scarlet and of raye; All they came to good Robyn, To wyte what he wolde say. 231. They made the monke to wasshe and wype, And syt at his denere. Robyn Hode and Lytell Johan They served him both in fere. 232. ‘Do gladly, monke,’ sayd Robyn. ‘Gramercy, syr,’ sayd he. ‘Where is your abbay, whan ye are at home, And who is your avowë?’ 233. ‘Saynt Mary abbay,’ sayd the monke, ‘Though I be symple here.’ ‘In what offyce?’ said Robyn: ‘Syr, the hye selerer.’ 234. ‘Ye be the more welcome,’ sayd Robyn, ‘So ever mote I the! Fyll of the best wyne,’ sayd Robyn, ‘This monke shall drynke to me. 235. ‘But I have grete mervayle,’ sayd Robyn, ‘Of all this longë day; I drede Our Lady be wroth with me, She sent me not my pay.’ 236. ‘Have no doute, mayster,’ sayd Lytell Johan, ‘Ye have no nede, I saye; This monke hath brought it, I dare well swere, For he is of her abbay.’ 237. ‘And she was a borowe,’ sayd Robyn, ‘Betwene a knyght and me, Of a lytell money that I hym lent, Under the grene-wode tree. 238. ‘And yf thou hast that sylver ibrought, I pray thee let me se; And I shall helpë thee eftsones, Yf thou have nede to me.’ 239. The monke swore a full grete othe, With a sory chere, ‘Of the borowehode thou spekest to me, Herde I never ere.’ 240. ‘I make myn avowe to God,’ sayd Robyn, ‘Monke, thou art to blame; For God is holde a ryghtwys man, And so is his dame. 241. ‘Thou toldest with thyn ownë tonge, Thou may not say nay, How thou arte her servaunt, And servest her every day. 242. ‘And thou art made her messengere, My money for to pay; Therefore I cun the morë thanke Thou arte come at thy day. 243. ‘What is in your cofers?’ sayd Robyn, ‘Trewe than tell thou me.’ ‘Syr,’ he sayd, ‘twenty marke, Al so mote I the.’ 244. ‘Yf there be no more,’ sayd Robyn, ‘I wyll not one peny; Yf thou hast myster of ony more, Syr, more I shall lende to thee. 245. ‘And yf I fyndë more,’ sayd Robyn, ‘I-wys thou shalte it forgone; For of thy spendynge-sylver, monke, Thereof wyll I ryght none. 246. ‘Go nowe forthe, Lytell Johan, And the trouth tell thou me; If there be no more but twenty marke, No peny that I se.’