71 ‘For ye haue scarlet and grene, mayster, And man[y] a riche aray; Ther is no marchau_n_t in mery Englond So ryche, I dare well say.’ 72 ‘Take hym thre yerdes of euery colour, And loke well mete that it be;’ Lytell John_n_ toke none other mesure But his bowë-tree. 73 And at euery handfull that he met He lepëd footës three; ‘What deuyllës drapar,’ sayid litell Muche, ‘Thynkest thou for to be?’ 74 Scarlok stode full stil and loughe, And sayd, By God Almyght, John_n_ may gyue hym gode mesure, For it costeth hym but lyght. 75 ‘Mayster,’ than said Litell John_n_ To gentill Robyn Hode, ‘Ye must giue the knig[h]t a hors, To lede home this gode.’ 76 ‘Take hy_m_ a gray coursar,’ sayde Roby_n_, ‘And a saydle newe; He is Oure Ladye’s messangere; God graunt that he be true.’ 77 ‘And a gode palfray,’ sayde lytell Much, ‘To mayntene hym in his right;’ ‘And a peyre of botës,’ sayde Scarlock, ‘For he is a gentyll knight.’ 78 ‘What shalt thou gyue hy_m_, Litell John?’ said Roby_n_; ‘Sir, a peyre of gilt sporis clene, To pray for all this co_m_pany; God bri_n_ge hy_m_ oute of tene.’ 79 ‘Wha_n_ shal mi day be,’ said the knight, ‘Sir, and your wyll be?’ ‘This day twelue moneth,’ saide Robyn, ‘Vnder this grenë-wode tre. 80 ‘It were greate shamë,’ sayde Robyn, ‘A knight alone to ryde, Withoutë squyre, yoman, or page, To walkë by his syde. 81 ‘I shall the lende Litell John, my man, For he shalbe thy knaue; In a yema[n]’s stede he may the stande, If thou greate nedë haue.’ THE SECONDE FYTTE. 82 Now is the knight gone on his way; This game hym thought full gode; Wha_n_ne he loked on Bernesdale He blessyd Roby_n_ Hode. 83 And wha_n_ne he thought on Bernysdale, On Scarlok, Much, and John_n_, He blyssyd them for the best company #b.# That euer he in come. 84 Then spake that gentyll knyght, To Lytel Johan gan he saye, To-morrowe I must to Yorke toune, To Saynt Mary abbay. 85 And to the abbot of that place Foure hondred pounde I must pay; And but I be there vpon this nyght My londe is lost for ay. 86 The abbot sayd to his couent, There he stode on grounde, This day twelfe moneth came there a knyght And borowed foure hondred pounde. 87 [He borowed foure hondred pounde,] Upon all his londë fre; But he come this ylkë day Dysheryte shall he be. 88 ‘It is full erely,’ sayd the pryoure, ‘The day is not yet ferre gone; I had leuer to pay an hondred pounde, And lay downe anone. 89 ‘The knyght is ferre beyonde the see, In Englonde is his ryght, And suffreth honger and colde, And many a sory nyght. 90 ‘It were grete pytë,’ said the pryoure, ‘So to haue his londe; And ye be so lyght of your consyence, Ye do to hym moch wronge.’