The porter rose anon sertan,
As sone as he herd John calle;
Litull John was redy with a swerd,
And bare hym to the walle.
LXXI
‘Now wil I be porter,’ seid Litull John,
‘And take the keyes in honde:’
He toke the way to Robyn Hode,
And sone he hym unbonde.
LXXII
He gaf hym a gode swerd in his hond,
His hed therwith for to kepe,
And ther as the walle was lowyst
Anon down can thei lepe.
LXXIII
Be that the cok began to crow,
The day began to spryng,
The Scheref fond the jaylier ded;
The comyn bell[1005] made he ryng.
LXXIV
He made a crye thoroout al the town,
Wheder he be yoman or knave,
That cowthè bryng hym Robyn Hode,
His warison[1006] he shuld have.