“Well well y non leffe,” seyde the potter,
“Nor pavag well y non pay;
Away they honde fro mey horse,
Y well the tene eyls, be me fay.”
The potter to hes cart he went,
He was not to seke;
A god to-hande staffe therowt he hent,
Befor Roben he lepe.
Roben howt with a swerd bent,
A bokeler en hes honde [therto];
The potter to Roben he went,
And seyde, “Felow, let mey horse go.”
Togeder then went thes two yemen,
Het was a god seyt to se;
Therof low Robyn hes men,
Ther they stod onder a tre.
Leytell John to hes felowhes seyde,
“Yend potter welle steffeley stonde:”
The potter, with an acward stroke,
Smot the bokeler owt of hes honde;
And ar Roben meyt get hem agen
Hes bokeler at hes fette,
The potter yn the neke hem toke,
To the gronde sone he yede.
That saw Roben hes men,
As they stode ender a bow;
“Let us helpe owr master,” seyed Lytell John,
“Yonder potter els well hem sclo.”
Thes yemen went with a breyde,
To ther master they cam.
Leytell John to hes master seyde,
“He haet the wager won?
“Schall y haff yowr forty shillings,” seyde Lytel John,
“Or ye, master, schall haffe myne?”
“Yeff they wer a hundred,” seyde Roben,
“Y feythe, they ben all theyne.”
“Het ys fol leytell cortesey,” seyde the potter,
“As y haffe harde weyse men saye,
Yeff a por yeman com drywyng ower the wey,
To let hem of hes gorney.”