‘Shall thou never eat nor drink,’ said the steward, ‘Till my lord be come to town.’ ‘I make mine avow to God,’ said Little John, ‘I had liefer to crack thy crown.’ CLIX The butler was full uncourteous, There he stood on floor, He started to the buttery, And shut fast the door. CLX Little John gave the butler such a rap, His back yede[803] nigh in two: Tho’ he lived an hundred winter, The worse he should go. CLXI He spurn’d the door with his foot, It went up well and fine, And there he made a large livery[804] Both of ale and wine. CLXII ‘Sith[805] ye will not dine,’ said Little John, ‘I shall give you to drink, And though ye live an hundred winter, On Little John ye shall think.’ CLXIII Little John ate, and Little John drank, The while that he wolde. The Sheriff had in his kitchen a cook, A stout man and a bold. CLXIV ‘I make mine avow to God,’ said the cook, ‘Thou art a shrewd hind[806], In an household to dwell, For to ask thus to dine.’ CLXV And there he lent[807] Little John, Good strokès three. ‘I make mine avow,’ said Little John, ‘These strokes liketh well me. CLXVI ‘Thou art a bold man and an hardy, And so thinketh me; And or I pass from this place, Assay’d better shalt thou be.’ CLXVII Little John drew a good sword, The cook took another in hand; They thought nothing for to flee, But stiffly for to stand. CLXVIII There they fought sore together, Two mile way and more, Might neither other harm done, The mountenance[808] of an hour. CLXIX ‘I make mine avow to God,’ said Little John, ‘And by my true lewtè, Thou art one of the best swordsmen That ever yet saw I me. CLXX ‘Couldest thou shoot as well in a bow, To green-wood thou shouldest with me, And two times in the year thy clothing I-changèd should be; CLXXI ‘And every year of Robin Hood Twenty mark to thy fee.’-- ‘Put up thy sword,’ said the cook, ‘And fellows will we be.’ CLXXII Then he fette[809] to Little John The numbles of a doe, Good bread and full good wine, They ate and drank thereto. CLXXIII And when they had drunken well, Their troths together they plight, That they would be with Robin That ilk same day at night. CLXXIV They did them to the treasure-house, As fast as they might gone, The locks that were of good steel They broke them every one; CLXXV They took away the silver vessel, And all that they might get, Pieces, masars[810], and spoons, Would they none forget; CLXXVI