"Thou toldest with thyn owne tonge, 145 Thou may not say nay, How thou arte her servaunt, And servest her every day. "And thou art made her messengere,[L149] My money for to pay; 150 Therefore I can the more thanke, Thou arte come at thy day. "What is in your cofers?" sayd Robyn, "Trewe than tell thou me:" "Syr," he sayd, "twenty marke, 155 Al so mote I the." "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 the; 160 "And yf I fynde more," sayd Robyn, "I-wys thou shalte it forgone; For of thy spendynge sylver, monk, Thereof wyll I ryght none. "Go nowe forthe, Lytell Johan, 165 And the trouth tell thou me; If there be no more but twenty marke, No peny that I se." Lytell Johan spred his mantell downe, As he had done before, 170 And he tolde out of the monkes male Eyght hundreth pounde and more.[L172] Lytell Johan let it lye full styll, And went to his mayster in hast; "Syr," he sayd, "the monke is trewe ynowe, 175 Our lady hath doubled your cost." "I make myn avowe to god," sayd Robyn, "Monke, what tolde I the? Our lady is the trewest womàn That ever yet founde I me. 180 "By dere worthy god," said Robyn, "To seche all England thorowe, Yet founde I never to my pay A moche better borowe. "Fyll of the best wyne, do hym drynke," said Robyn, 185 "And grete well thy lady hende, And yf she have nede of Robyn Hode,[L187] A frende she shall hym fynde. "And yf she nedeth ony more sylvèr, Come thou agayne to me, 190 And, by this token she hath me sent, She shall have such thre." The monke was going to London ward, There to holde grete mote, The knyght that rode so hye on hors, 195 To brynge hym under fote. "Whether be ye away?" sayd Robyn. "Syr, to maners in this londe, Too reken with our reves, That have done moch wronge." 200 "Come now forth, Lytell Johan, And harken to my tale; A better yemen I knowe none, To seke a monkes male." "How much is in yonder other cofer?" said Robyn,[L205] 205 "The soth must we see:" "By our lady," than sayd the monke, "That were no curteysye, "To bydde a man to dyner, And syth hym bete and bynde." 210 "It is our olde maner," sayd Robyn, "To leve but lytell behynde."