thou spekest to me,
Herde I never ere.'

240.
'I make myn avowe to God,' sayd Robyn,
'Monke, thou art to blame;
For God is holde a ryghtwys man,
And so is his dame.

241.
'Thou toldest with thyn owne tonge,
Thou may not say nay,
How thou arte her servaunt,
And servest her every day.

242.
'And thou art made her messengere,
My money for to pay;
Therefore I cun the more thanke
Thou arte come at thy day.

243.
'What is in your cofers?' sayd Robyn,
'Trewe than tell thou me.'
'Syr,' he sayd, 'twenty marke,
Al so mote I the.'

244.
'Yf there be no more,' sayd Robyn,
'I wyll not one peny;
Yf thou hast myster of ony more,
Syr, more I shall lende to thee.

245.
'And yf I fynde more,' sayd Robyn,
'I-wys thou shalte it forgone;
For of thy spendynge-sylver, monke,
Thereof wyll I ryght none.

246.
'Go nowe forthe, Lytell Johan,
And the trouth tell thou me;
If there be no more but twenty marke,
No peny that I se.'

247.
Lytell Johan spred his mantell downe,
As he had done before,
And he tolde out of the monkes male
Eyght hondred pounde and more.

248.
Lytell Johan let it lye full styll,
And went to his mayster in hast;
'Syr,' he sayd, 'the monke is trewe ynowe,
Our Lady hath doubled your cast.'

249.
'I make myn avowe to God,' sayd Robyn--
'Monke, what tolde I thee?--
Our Lady is the trewest woman
That ever yet founde I me.

250.
'By dere worthy God,' sayd Robyn,
'To seche all Englond thorowe,
Yet founde I never to my pay
A moche better borowe.

251.
'Fyll of the best wyne, and do hym drynke,' sayd Robyn,
'And grete well thy lady hende,
And yf she have nede to Robyn Hode,
A frende she shall hym fynde.

252.
'And yf she nedeth ony more sylver,
Come thou agayne to me,
And, by this token she hath me sent,
She shall have such thre.'

253.
The monke was goynge to London ward,
There to hold grete mote,
The knyght that rode so hye on hors,
To brynge hym under fote.

254.
'Whether be ye away?' sayd Robyn.
'Syr, to maners in this londe,
To reken with our reves,
That have done moch wronge.'

255.
'Come now forth, Lytell Johan,
And harken to my tale;
A better yemen I knowe none,
To seke a monkes male.'

256.
'How moch is in yonder other corser?' sayd Roby