‘Be my feith,’ seid Litull John to Moch, ‘I can the tel tithyngus[988] gode; I se wher the monke cumys rydyng, I know hym be his wyde hode.’ XLI They went in to the way, these yemen bothe, As curtes men and hende[989]; Thei spyrred[990] tithyngus at the munke, As they hade bene his frende. XLII ‘Ffro whens come ye?’ seid Litull John, ‘Tel us tithyngus, I yow pray, Off a false owtlay, callid Robyn Hode, Was takyn yisterday. XLIII ‘He robbyt me and my felowes bothe Of twenti marke in serten; If that false owtlay be takyn, Ffor sothe we wolde be fayn.’ XLIV ‘So did he me,’ seid the munke, ‘Of a hundred pound and more; I layde furst hande hym apon, Ye may thonke me therfore.’ XLV ‘I pray God thanke you,’ seid Litull John, ‘And we wil when we may; We wil go with you, with your leve, And bryng yow on your way. XLVI ‘Ffor Robyn Hode hase many a wilde felow, I tell you in certen; If thei wist ye rode this way, In feith ye shulde be slayn.’ XLVII As thei went talking be the way, The munke and Litull John, John toke the munkis horse be the hede, Fful sone and anon. XLVIII John toke the munkis horse be the hed, Fforsothe as I yow say; So did Much the litull page, Ffor he shulde not scape away. XLIX Be the golett[991] of the hode John pulled the munkè down; John was nothyng of hym agast[992], He lete hym falle on his crown. L Litull John was sore agrevyd, And drew owt his swerde in hye[993]; This munkè saw he shulde be ded, Lowd mercy can he crye. LI ‘He was my maister,’ seid Litull John, ‘That thou hase browght in bale[994]; Shalle thou never cum at our Kyng, Ffor to telle hym tale.’ LII John smote of the munkis hed, No longer wolde he dwell; So did Moch the litull page, Ffor ferd[995] lest he wolde tell. LIII Ther thei beryèd hem bothe, In nouther mosse nor lyng, And Litull John and Much in fere Bare the letturs to oure Kyng. LIV [Whan John came unto oure Kyng] He knelid down on his kne: God yow save, my legè lorde, Jhesus yow save and se! LV ‘God yow save, my legè Kyng!’ To speke John was full bolde; He gaf hym the letturs in his hond, The Kyng did hit unfold. LVI The Kyng red the letturs anon, And seid, ‘So mot I the[996], Ther was never yoman in mery Inglond I longut so sore to se. LVII ‘Wher is the munke that these shuld have brought?’ Ourè Kyng can say: ‘Be my trouth,’ seid Litull John, ‘He dyed after[997] the way.’ LVIII The Kyng gaf Moch and Litull John Twenti pound in sertan, And made theim yemen of the crown, And bade theim go agayn. LIX