91 ‘Thou arte euer in my berde,’ sayd the abbot, ‘By God and Saynt Rycharde;’ With that cam in a fat-heded monke, The heygh selerer. 92 ‘He is dede or hanged,’ sayd the monke, ‘By God that bought me dere, And we shall haue to spende in this place Foure hondred pounde by yere.’ 93 The abbot and the hy selerer Stertë forthe full bolde, The [hye] iustyce of Englonde The abbot there dyde holde. 94 The hyë iustyce and many mo Had take in to they[r] honde Holy all the knyghtës det, To put that knyght to wronge. 95 They demed the knyght wonder sore, The abbot and his meynë: ‘But he come this ylkë day Dysheryte shall he be.’ 96 ‘He wyll not come yet,’ sayd the iustyce, ‘I dare well vndertake;’ But in sorowe tymë for them all The knyght came to the gate. 97 Than bespake that gentyll knyght Untyll his meynë: Now put on your symple wedes That ye brought fro the see. 98 [They put on their symple wedes,] They came to the gates anone; The porter was redy hymselfe, And welcomed them euerychone. 99 ‘Welcome, syr knyght,’ sayd the porter; ‘My lorde to mete is he, And so is many a gentyll man, For the loue of the.’ 100 The porter swore a full grete othe, ‘By God that madë me, Here be the best coresed hors That euer yet sawe I me. 101 ‘Lede them in to the stable,’ he sayd, ‘That eased myght they be;’ ‘They shall not come therin,’ sayd the knyght, ‘By God that dyed on a tre.’ 102 Lordës were to mete isette In that abbotes hall; The knyght went forth and kneled downe, And salued them grete and small. 103 ‘Do gladly, syr abbot,’ sayd the knyght, ‘I am come to holde my day:’ The fyrst word the abbot spake, ‘Hast thou brought my pay?’ 104 ‘Not one peny,’ sayd the knyght, ‘By God that maked me;’ ‘Thou art a shrewed dettour,’ sayd the abbot; ‘Syr iustyce, drynke to me. 105 ‘What doost thou here,’ sayd the abbot, ‘But thou haddest brought thy pay?’ ‘For God,’ than sayd the knyght, ‘To pray of a lenger daye.’ 106 ‘Thy daye is broke,’ sayd the iustyce, ‘Londe getest thou none:’ ‘Now, good syr iustyce, be my frende, And fende me of my fone!’ 107 ‘I am holde with the abbot,’ sayd the iustyce, ‘Both with cloth and fee:’ ‘Now, good syr sheryf, be my frende!’ ‘Nay, for God,’ sayd he. 108 ‘Now, good syr abbot, be my frende, For thy curteysë, And holde my londës in thy honde Tyll I haue made the gree! 109 ‘And I wyll be thy true seruaunte, And trewely seruë the, Tyl ye haue foure hondred pounde Of money good and free.’ 110 The abbot sware a full grete othe, ‘By God that dyed on a tree, Get the londe where thou may, For thou getest none of me.’