‘God yow save, my legè Kyng!’
To speke John was full bolde;
He gaf hym the letturs in his hond,
The Kyng did hit unfold.
LVI
The Kyng red the letturs anon,
And seid, ‘So mot I the[996],
Ther was never yoman in mery Inglond
I longut so sore to se.
LVII
‘Wher is the munke that these shuld have brought?’
Ourè Kyng can say:
‘Be my trouth,’ seid Litull John,
‘He dyed after[997] the way.’
LVIII
The Kyng gaf Moch and Litull John
Twenti pound in sertan,
And made theim yemen of the crown,
And bade theim go agayn.
LIX
He gaf John the seel in hand,
The Sheref for to bere,
To bryng Robyn hym to,
And no man do hym dere[998].