"And let this mournyng be,

And I shall be the munkes gyde,
With the myght of mylde Mary.

"And I mete hym," seid Litull Johne,
"We will go but we too

* * * * *
"Loke that ze kepe wel our tristil tre

Vnder the levys smale,
And spare non of this venyson

That gose in thys vale."
Forthe thei went these zemen too,

Litul Johne and Moche onfere,
And lokid on Moche emys hows

The hyeway lay fulle nere.
Litul John stode at a window in the mornynge,

And lokid forth at a stage;
He was war wher the munke came ridynge,

And with him a litul page.
"Be my feith," said Litul Johne to Moche,

"I can the tel tithyngus gode;
I se wher the munk comys rydyng,

I know hym be his wyde hode."
Thei went into the way these zemen bothe

As curtes men and hende,
Thei spyrred tithyngus at the munke,

As thei hade bene his frende.
"Fro whens come ze," seid Litul Johne,

"Tel vs tithyngus, I yow pray,
Off a false owtlay [called Robyn Hode],

Was takyn zisturday.
"He robbyt me and my felowes bothe

Of xx marke in serten;
If that false owtlay be takyn,

For sothe we wolde be fayne."
"So did he me," seid the munke,

"Of a C pound and more;
I layde furst hande hym apon,

Ze may thonke me therefore."
"I pray God thanke yow," seid Litulle Johne,

"And we wil when we may;
We wil go with yow, with your leve,

And brynge yow on your way.
"For Robyn Hode hase many a wilde felow,

I telle yow in certen;
If thei wist ze rode this way,

In feith ze shulde be slayn."
As thei went talkyng be the way,

The munke an Litulle Johne,
Johne toke the munkes horse be the hede

Ful sone and anone.
Johne toke the munkes horse be the hed,

For sothe as I yow say,
So did Muche the litulle page,

For he shulde not stirre away.
Be the golett of the hode

Johne pulled the munke downe;
Johne was nothynge of hym agast,

He lete hym falle on his crowne.
Litulle Johne was sore agrevyd,

And drew out his swerde in hye;
The munke saw he shulde be ded,

Lowd mercy can he crye.
"He was my maister," said Litulle Johne,

"That thou hase browzt in bale;
Shalle thou neuer cum at our kynge

For to telle hym tale."
John smote of the munkes hed,

No longer wolde he dwelle;
So did Moche the litulle page,

For ferd lest he wold tell.
Ther thei beryed hem both

In nouther mosse nor lynge,
And Litulle Johne and Muche infere

Bare the letturs to oure kyng.
* * * * *

He kneled down vpon - his kne,
"God zow sane, my lege lorde,

Jesus yow saue and se.
"God yow saue, my lege kyng,"

To speke Johne was fulle bolde;
He gaf hym tbe letturs in his hond,

The kyng did hit unfold.
The kyng red the letturs anon,

And seid, "so met I the,
Ther was neuer zoman in mery Inglond

I longut so sore to see.
"Wher is the munke that these shuld haue browzt?"

Oure kynge gan say;
"Be my trouthe," seid Litull Jone,

"He dyed aftur the way."
The kyng gaf Moche and Litul Jon

xx pound in sertan,
And made theim zemen of the crowne,

And bade theim go agayn.
He gaf Johne the seel in hand,

The scheref for to bere,
To brynge Robyn hym to,

And no man do hym dere.
Johne toke his leve at cure kyng,

The sothe as I yow say;
The next way to Notyngham

To take he zede the way.
When Johne came to Notyngham

The zatis were sparred ychone;
Johne callid vp the porter,

He answerid sone anon.
"What is the cause," seid Litul John,

"Thou sparris the zates so fast?"
"Because of Robyn Hode," seid [the] porter,

"In depe prison is cast.
"Johne, and Moche, and Wylle Scathlok,

For sothe as I yow say,
Thir slew oure men vpon oure wallis,

And sawtene vs euery day."
Litulle Johne spyrred aftur the schereff,

And sone he hym fonde;
He oppyned the kyngus prive seelle,

And gaf hyn in his honde.
When the schereft saw the kyngus seelle,

He did of his hode anon;
"Wher is the munke that bare the letturs?"

He said to Litulle Johne.
"He is so fayn of hym," seid Litulle Johne,

"For sothe as I yow sey,
He has made hym abot of Westmynster,

A lorde of that abbay."
The scheref made John gode chere,

And gaf hym wine of the best;
At nyzt thei went to her bedde,

And euery man to his rest.
When the scheref was on-slepe

Dronken of wine and ale,
Litul Johne and Moche for sothe

Toke the way vnto the jale.
Litul Johne callid vp the jayler,

And bade him ryse anon;
He seid Robyn Hode had brokyn preson,

And out of hit was gon.
The portere rose anon sertan,

As sone as he herd John calle;
Litul Johne was redy with a swerd,

And bare hym to the walle.
"Now will I be porter," seid Litul Johne,

"And take the keyes in honde;"
He toke the way to Robyn Hode,

And sone he hym vnbonde.
He gaf hym a gode swerd in his hond,

His hed with for to kepe,
And ther as the walle was lowyst

Anon down can thei lepe.
Be that the cok began to crow,

The day began to sprynge,
The scheref fond the jaylier ded,

The comyn belle made he rynge.
He made a crye thoroowt al the tow[n],

Whedur he be zoman or knave,
That cowthe brynge hyrn Robyn Hode,

His warisone he shuld haue.
"For I dar neuer," said the scheref,

"Cum before oure kynge,
For if I do, I wot serten,

For sothe he wil me henge."
The scheref made to seke Notyngham,

Bothe be strete and stye,
And Robyn was in mery Scherwode

As lizt as lef on lynde.
Then bespake gode Litulle Johne,

To Robyn Hode can he say,
"I haue done the a gode turne for an euylle,

Quyte me whan thou may.
"I haue done the a gode turne," said Litulle Johne,

"For sothe as I you saie;
I haue brouzt the vnder grene wode lyne;

Fare wel, and haue gode day."
"Nay, be my trouthe," seid Robyn Hode,

"So shalle hit neuer be;
I make the maister," seid Robyn Hode,

"Off alle my men and me."
"Nay, be my trouthe," seid Litulle Johne,

"So shall hit neuer be,
But lat me be a felow," seid Litulle Johne,

"Non odur kepe I'll be."
Thus Johne gate Robyn Hode out of prisone,

Sertan withoutyn layne;
When his men saw hym hol and sounde,

For sothe they were ful fayne.
They filled in wyne, and made him glad,

Vnder the levys smale,
And zete pastes of venysone,

That gode was with ale.
Than worde came to oure kynge,

How Robyn Hode was gone,
And how the scheref of Notyngham

Durst neuer loke hyme vpone.
Then bespake oure cumly kynge,

In an angur hye,
"Litulle Johne hase begyled the schereff,

In faith so hase he me.
"Litulle Johne has begyled vs bothe,

And that fulle wel I se,
Or ellis the schereff of Notyngham