51 ‘In what maner,’ than sayde Robyn, ‘Hast thou lorne thy rychesse? ’ ‘For my greatë foly,’ he sayde, ‘And for my kynd[ë]nesse. 52 ‘I hade a sone, forsoth, Robyn, That shulde hau[e] ben myn ayre, Whanne he was twenty wynter olde, In felde wolde iust full fayre. 53 ‘He slewe a knyght of Lancaster, And a squyer bolde; For to saue hym in his ryght My godes both sette and solde. 54 ‘My londes both sette to wedde, Robyn, Vntyll a certayn day, To a ryche abbot here besyde Of Seynt Mari Abbey.’ 55 ‘What is the som?’ sayde Robyn; ‘Trouth than tell thou me;’ ‘Sir,’ he sayde, ‘foure hundred pounde; The abbot told it to me.’ 56 ‘Nowe and thou lese thy lond,’ sayde Robyn, ‘What woll fall of the?’ ‘Hastely I wol me buske,’ sayd the knyght, ‘Ouer the saltë see, 57 ‘And se w[h]ere Criste was quyke and dede, On the mount of Caluerë; Fare wel, frende, and haue gode day; It may no better be.’ 58 Teris fell out of hys iyen two; He wolde haue gone hys way: ‘Farewel, frende, and haue gode day; I ne haue no more to pay.’ 59 ‘Where be thy frendës?’ sayde Robyn: ‘Syr, neuer one wol me knowe; While I was ryche ynowe at home Great boste than wolde they blowe. 60 ‘And nowe they renne away fro me, As bestis on a rowe; They take no more hede of me Thanne they had me neuer sawe.’ 61 For ruthe thanne wept Litell John_n_, Scarlok and Muche in fere; ‘Fyl of the best wyne,’ sayde Robyn, ‘For here is a symple chere. 62 ‘Hast thou any frende,’ sayde Robyn, ‘Thy borowe that woldë be? ’ ‘I haue none,’ than sayde the knyght, ‘But God that dyed on tree.’ 63 ‘Do away thy iapis,’ than sayde Robyn, ‘Thereof wol I right none; Wenest thou I wolde haue God to borowe, Peter, Poule, or John_n_? 64 ‘Nay, by hym that me made, And shope both sonne and mone, Fynde me a better borowe,’ sayde Robyn, ‘Or money getest thou none.’ 65 ‘I haue none other,’ sayde the knyght, ‘The sothe for to say, But yf yt be Our derë Lady; She fayled me neuer or thys day.’ 66 ‘By dere worthy God,’ sayde Robyn, ‘To seche all Englonde thorowe, Yet fonde I neuer to my pay A moche better borowe. 67 ‘Come nowe furth, Litell John_n_, And go to my tresourë, And bringe me foure hundered pound, And loke well tolde it be.’ 68 Furth tha_n_ went Litell John_n_, And Scarlok went before; He tolde oute foure hundred pounde By eight and twenty score. 69 ‘Is thys well tolde?’ sayde [litell] Much; John_n_ sayde, ‘What gre[ue]th the? It is almus to helpe a gentyll knyght, That is fal in pouertë. 70 ‘Master,’ than sayde Lityll John, ‘His clothinge is full thynne; Ye must gyue the knight a lyueray, To lappe his body therin.