XCI
‘Thou art ever in my beard[770],’ said the Abbot,
‘By God and Saint Richard!’
With that came in a fat-headed monk,
The Highè Cellarèr.
XCII
‘He is dead or hangèd,’ said the monk,
‘By Him that bought me dear,
And we shall have to spend in this place
Four hundred pound by year.’
XCIII
The Abbot and the High Cellarer
Started forth full bold,
The High Justice of Engèland
The Abbot there did hold.
XCIV
The High Justice and many mo
Had taken into their hand
Wholly all the Knightès debt,
To put that Knight to shand.
XCV
They deemèd[771] the Knight wonder sore[772],
The Abbot and his meinèe:
‘But he come this ilkè day,
Disherited shall he be.’