f gate Litell John
Twelve monethes of the knight;
Therefore he gave him right anone
A gode hors and a wight.

153.
Nowe is Litell John the sherifes man,
God lende us well to spede!
But alwey thought Lytell John
To quyte hym wele his mede.

154.
'Nowe so God me helpe,' sayde Litell John,
'And by my true leutye,
I shall be the worst servaunt to hym
That ever yet had he.'

155.
It fell upon a Wednesday
The sherif on huntynge was gone,
And Litel John lay in his bed,
And was foriete at home.

156.
Therfore he was fastinge
Til it was past the none;
'Gode sir stuarde, I pray to thee,
Gyve me my dynere,' saide Litell John.

157.
'It is longe for Grenelefe
Fastinge thus for to be;
Therfor I pray thee, sir stuarde,
Mi dyner gif me.'

158.
'Shalt thou never ete ne drynke' saide the stuarde,
'Tyll my lorde be come to towne.'
'I make myn avowe to God,' saide Litell John,
'I had lever to crake thy crowne.'

159.
The boteler was full uncurteys,
There he stode on flore;
He start to the botery
And shet fast the dore.

160.
Lytell Johnn gave the boteler suche a tap
His backe went nere in two;
Though he lived an hundred ier,
The wors shuld he go.

161.
He sporned the dore with his fote;
It went open wel and fyne;
And there he made large lyveray,
Bothe of ale and of wyne.

162.
'Sith ye wol nat dyne,' sayde Litell John,
'I shall gyve you to drinke;
And though ye lyve an hundred wynter,
On Lytel Johnn ye shall thinke.'

163.
Litell John ete, and Litel John drank,
The while that he wolde;
The sherife had in his kechyn a coke,
A stoute man and a bolde.

164.
'I make myn avowe to God,' said the coke,
'Thou arte a shrewde hynde
In ani hous for to dwel,
For to aske thus to dyne.'

165.
And there he lent Litell John
Gode strokis thre;
'I make myn avowe to God,' sayde Lytell John,
'These strokis lyked well me.

166.
'Thou arte a bolde man and hardy,
And so thinketh me;
And or I pas fro this place
Assayed better shalt thou be.'

167.
Lytell Johnn drew a ful gode sworde,
The coke took another in hande;
They thought no thynge for to fle,
But stifly for to stande.

168.
There they faught sore togedere
Two myle way and well more;
Myght nether other harme done,
T