111 ‘By dere worthy God,’ then sayd the knyght, ‘That all this worldë wrought, But I haue my londe agayne, Full dere it shall be bought. 112 ‘God, that was of a mayden borne, Leue vs well to spede! For it is good to assay a frende Or that a man haue nede.’ 113 The abbot lothely on hym gan loke, And vylaynesly hym gan call; ‘Out,’ he sayd, ‘thou falsë knyght, Spede the out of my hall!’ 114 ‘Thou lyest,’ then sayd the gentyll knyght, ‘Abbot, in thy hal; False knyght was I neuer, By God that made vs all.’ 115 Vp then stode that gentyll knyght, To the abbot sayd he, To suffre a knyght to knele so longe, Thou canst no curteysye. 116 In ioustës and in tournement Full ferre than haue I be, And put my selfe as ferre in prees As ony that euer I se. 117 ‘What wyll ye gyue more,’ sayd the iustice, ‘And the knyght shall make a releyse? And elles dare I safly swere Ye holde neuer your londe in pees.’ 118 ‘An hondred pounde,’ sayd the abbot; The justice sayd, Gyue hym two; ‘Nay, be God,’ sayd the knyght, #a.# ‘Yit gete ye it not so. 119 ‘Though ye wolde gyue a thousand more, Yet were ye neuer the nere; Shall there neuer be myn heyre Abbot, iustice, ne frere.’ 120 He stert hy_m_ to a borde anone, Tyll a table rounde, And there he shoke oute of a bagge Eue_n_ four hundred pou_n_d. 121 ‘Haue here thi golde, sir abbot,’ saide the knight, ‘Which th_a_t thou le_n_test me; Had thou ben curtes at my comynge, Rewarded shuldest thou haue be.’ 122 The abbot sat styll, and ete no more, For all his ryall fare; He cast his hede on his shulder, And fast began to stare. 123 ‘Take me my golde agayne,’ saide the abbot, ‘Sir iustice, th_a_t I toke the:’ ‘Not a peni,’ said the iustice, ‘Bi Go[d, that dy]ed on tree.’ 124 ‘Sir [abbot, and ye me]n of lawe, #b.# Now haue I holde my daye; Now shall I haue my londe agayne, For ought that you can saye.’ 125 The knyght stert out of the dore, Awaye was all his care, And on he put his good clothynge, The other he lefte there. 126 He wente hym forth full mery syngynge, As men haue tolde in tale; His lady met hym at the gate, At home in Verysdale. 127 ‘Welcome, my lorde,’ sayd his lady; ‘Syr, lost is all your good?’ ‘Be mery, dame,’ sayd the knyght, #a.# ‘And pray for Robyn Hode, 128 ‘That euer his soulë be in blysse: He holpe me out of tene; Ne had be his kyndënesse, Beggers had we bene. 129 ‘The abbot and I accorded ben, He is s_er_ued of his pay; The god yoma_n_ le_n_t it me, As I cam by the way.’ 130 This knight than dwelled fayre at home, The sothe for to saye, Tyll he had gete four hundred pound, Al redy for to pay.