The King he laughed, and swore by St. Jone,
"I did not think it could be gone so soon.
Now from the third question thou must not shrink,
But tell me here truly what do I think."

"Yea, that I shall do and make your Grace merry;
You think I'm the Abbot of Canterbury;
But I'm his poor shepherd, as plain you may see,
That am come to beg pardon for him and for me."

The King he laughed, and swore by the mass,
"I'll make thee Lord Abbot this day in his place!"
"Nay, nay, my Liege, be not in such speed,
For alack, I can neither write nor read."

"Four nobles a week, then, I will give thee,
For this merry jest thou hast shown unto me;
And tell the old Abbot, when thou gettest home,
Thou hast brought him a pardon from good King John."

Old Ballad.

Lord Beichan and Susie Pye

Lord Beichan was a noble lord,
A noble lord of high degree;
But he was ta'en by a savage Moor,
Who treated him right cruellie.

In ilka shoulder was put a bore,
In ilka bore was put a tree;
And heavy loads they made him draw,
Till he was sick, and like to dee.

Then he was cast in a dungeon deep,
Where he cou'd neither hear nor see;
And seven long years they kept him there,
Both cold and hunger sore to dree.

The Moor he had an only daughter,
The damsel's name was Susie Pye;
And ilka day as she took the air,
Lord Beichan's prison she pass'd by.