"The following is chiefly printed from an ancient black-letter copy, to the tune of Derry-down."
An ancient story Ile tell you anon
Of a notable prince, that was called King John;
And he ruled England with maine and with might,
For he did great wrong, and maintein'd little right.
And Ile tell you a story, a story so merrye, 5
Concerning the Abbott of Canterbùrye;
How for his house-keeping and high renowne,
They rode poste for him to fair London towne.
An hundred men, the king did heare say,
The abbot kept in his house every day; 10
And fifty golde chaynes, without any doubt,
In velvet coates waited the abbot about.
"How now, father abbot, I heare it of thee,
Thou keepest a farre better house than mee;
And for thy house-keeping and high renowne, 15
I feare thou work'st treason against my crown."
"My liege," quo' the abbot, "I would it were knowne
I never spend nothing, but what is my owne;
And I trust your grace will doe me no deere,
For spending of my owne true-gotten geere." 20
"Yes, yes, father abbot, thy fault it is highe,
And now for the same thou needest must dye;
For except thou canst answer me questions three,
Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodìe.
"And first," quo' the king, "when I'm in this stead, 25
With my crowne of golde so faire on my head,
Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe,
Thou must tell me to one penny what I am worthe.