"What wyll ye gyve more," said the justyce,
"And the knyght shall make a releyse?
And elles dare I safly swere
Ye holde never your londe in pees."
"An hondred pounde," sayd the abbot;145
The justyce said, "Gyve him two;"
"Nay, be god," said the knyght,
"Yet [gete] ye it not soo.
"Though ye wolde gyve a thousande more,
Yet were [ye] never the nere;150
Shall there never be myn eyre,
Abbot, justyse, ne frere."
He sterte hym to a borde anone,
Tyll a table rounde,
And there he shoke out of a bagge155
Even foure hondred pounde.
"Have here thy golde, syr abbot," sayd the knyght,
"Which that thou lentest me;
Haddest thou ben curteys at my comynge,
Rewarde sholdest thou have be."160
The abbot sat styll, and ete no more,
For all his ryall chere;
He caste his hede on his sholdèr,
And fast began to stare.
"Take me my golde agayne," sayd the abbot,165
"Syr justyce, that I toke the;"
"Not a peny," sayd the justyce,
"By god, that dyed on a tree."
"Syr abbot, and ye men of lawe,
Now have I holde my daye,170
Now shall I have my londe agayne,
For ought that you can saye."
The knyght stert out of the dore,
Awaye was all his care,
And on he put his good clothynge,175
The other he lefte there.
He wente hym forthe full mery syngynge,
As men have tolde in tale,
His lady met hym at the gate,
At home in [Uterysdale].180