151 ‘I haue a maister,’ sayde Litell John_n_, ‘A curteys knight is he; May ye leuë gete of hym, The better may it be.’ 152 The sherif gate Litell John Twelue monethës of the knight; Therfore he gaue him right anone A gode hors and a wight. 153 Nowe is Litell John the sherifës man, God lende vs well to spede! But alwey thought Lytell John To quyte hym wele his mede. 154 ‘Nowe so God me helpë,’ sayde Litell John, ‘And by my true leutye, I shall be the worst seruaunt to hym Th_a_t euer yet had he.’ 155 It fell vpo_n_ a Wednesday The sherif on huntynge was gone, And Litel Iohn lay i_n_ his bed, And was foriete at home. 156 Therfore he was fasti_n_ge Til it was past the none; ‘Gode sir stuarde, I pray to the, Gyue me my dynere,’ saide Litell John. 157 ‘It is longe for Grenëlefe Fasti_n_ge thus for to be; Therfor I pray the, sir stuarde, Mi dyner gif me.’ 158 ‘Shalt thou neuer ete ne dry_n_ke,’ saide the stuarde, ‘Tyll my lorde be come to towne:’ ‘I make myn auowe to God,’ saide Litell John, ‘I had leuer to crake thy crowne.’ 159 The boteler was full vncurteys, There he stode on flore; He start to the botery And shet fast the dore. 160 Lytell John_n_ gaue the boteler suche a tap His backe went nere in two; Though he liued an hundred ier, The wors shuld he go. 161 He sporned the dore w_i_t_h_ his fote; It went ope_n_ wel and fyne; And there he made large lyueray, Bothe of ale and of wyne. 162 ‘Sith ye wol nat dyne,’ sayde Litell John, ‘I shall gyue you to drinke; And though ye lyue an hundred wynter, On Lytel John_n_ ye shall thinke.’ 163 Litell John ete, and Litel John drank, The whilë that he wolde; The sherife had i_n_ his kechy_n_ a coke, A stoute man and a bolde. 164 ‘I make myn auowe to God,’ saide the coke, ‘Thou arte a shrewde hynde In ani hous for to dwel, For to askë th_us_ to dyne.’ 165 And there he lent Litell John God[ë] strokis thre; ‘I make myn auowe to God,’ sayde Lytell John, ‘These strokis lyked well me. 166 ‘Thou arte a bolde man and hardy, And so thi_n_keth me; And or I pas fro this place Assayed better shalt thou be.’ 167 Lytell John_n_ drew a ful gode sworde, The coke toke another in hande; They thought no thynge for to fle, But stifly for to stande. 168 There they faught sore togedere Two mylë way and well more; Myght neyther other harme done, The mountnaunce of an owre. 169 ‘I make my_n_ auowe to God,’ sayde Litell John_n_, ‘And by my true lewtë, Thou art one of the best sworde-men That euer yit sawe I [me.] 170 ‘Cowdest thou shote as well in a bowe, To grenë wode thou shuldest with me, And two times in the yere thy clothinge Chaunged shuldë be;