"Now, good syr abbot, be my frende, 105 For thy curteysè, And holde my londes in thy honde Tyll I have made the gree; "And I wyll be thy true servaunte, And trewely serve the, 110 Tyl ye have foure hondred pounde Of money good and free." The abbot sware a full grete othe, "By god that dyed on a tree, Get the londe where thou may, 115 For thou getest none of me." "By dere worthy god," then sayd the knyght, "That all this worlde wrought, But I have my londe agayne Full dere it shall be bought. 120 "God, that was of a mayden borne, Lene us well to spede![L122] For it is good to assay a frende Or that a man have nede." The abbot lothely on him gan loke, 125 And vylaynesly hym gan call;[L126] "Out," he sayd, "thou false knyght, Spede the out of my hall!" "Thou lyest," then sayd the gentyll knyght, "Abbot in thy hal; 130 False knyght was I never, By god that made us all." Up then stode that gentyll knyght, To the abbot sayd he, "To suffre a knyght to knele so longe 135 Thou canst no curteysye. "In joustes and in tournement Full ferre than have I be, And put myselfe as ferre in prees As ony that ever I se." 140 "What wyll ye gyve more," said the justyce, "And the knyght shall make a releyse? And elles dare I safly swere Ye holde never your londe in pees." "An hondred pounde," sayd the abbot; 145 The justyce said, "Gyve him two;" "Nay, be god," said the knyght, "Yet gete ye it not soo.[L148] "Though ye wolde gyve a thousande more, Yet were ye never the nere;[L150] 150 Shall there never be myn eyre, Abbot, justyse, ne frere." He sterte hym to a borde anone, Tyll a table rounde, And there he shoke out of a bagge 155 Even foure hondred pounde. "Have here thy golde, syr abbot," sayd the knyght, "Which that thou lentest me; Haddest thou ben curteys at my comynge, Rewarde sholdest thou have be." 160 The abbot sat styll, and ete no more, For all his ryall chere; He caste his hede on his sholdèr, And fast began to stare. "Take me my golde agayne," sayd the abbot, 165 "Syr justyce, that I toke the;" "Not a peny," sayd the justyce, "By god, that dyed on a tree." "Syr abbot, and ye men of lawe, Now have I holde my daye, 170 Now shall I have my londe agayne, For ought that you can saye."