"Thou toldest with thyn owne tonge,145
Thou may not say nay,
How thou arte her servaunt,
And servest her every day.
"And thou art [made] her messengere,
My money for to pay;150
Therefore I can the more thanke,
Thou arte come at thy day.
"What is in your cofers?" sayd Robyn,
"Trewe than tell thou me:"
"Syr," he sayd, "twenty marke,155
Al so mote I the."
"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 the;160
"And yf I fynde more," sayd Robyn,
"I-wys thou shalte it forgone;
For of thy spendynge sylver, monk,
Thereof wyll I ryght none.
"Go nowe forthe, Lytell Johan,165
And the trouth tell thou me;
If there be no more but twenty marke,
No peny that I se."
Lytell Johan spred his mantell downe,
As he had done before,170
And he tolde out of the monkes male
[Eyght hundreth pounde] and more.
Lytell Johan let it lye full styll,
And went to his mayster in hast;
"Syr," he sayd, "the monke is trewe ynowe,175
Our lady hath doubled your cost."
"I make myn avowe to god," sayd Robyn,
"Monke, what tolde I the?
Our lady is the trewest womàn
That ever yet founde I me.180
"By dere worthy god," said Robyn,
"To seche all England thorowe,
Yet founde I never to my pay
A moche better borowe.