‘Be my feith,’ seid Litull John to Moch,
‘I can the tel tithyngus[988] gode;
I se wher the monke cumys rydyng,
I know hym be his wyde hode.’
XLI
They went in to the way, these yemen bothe,
As curtes men and hende[989];
Thei spyrred[990] tithyngus at the munke,
As they hade bene his frende.
XLII
‘Ffro whens come ye?’ seid Litull John,
‘Tel us tithyngus, I yow pray,
Off a false owtlay, callid Robyn Hode,
Was takyn yisterday.
XLIII
‘He robbyt me and my felowes bothe
Of twenti marke in serten;
If that false owtlay be takyn,
Ffor sothe we wolde be fayn.’
XLIV
‘So did he me,’ seid the munke,
‘Of a hundred pound and more;
I layde furst hande hym apon,
Ye may thonke me therfore.’