“For now am I weppynlesse,” seid Robyne,
“Alasse, agayn my wylle;
But if I may fle these traytors fro,
I wot thei wil me kylle.”

Robyns men to the churche ran
Throout hem euerilkon;
Sum fel in swonyng as thei were dede,
And lay still as any stone.

* * * * *

Non of theym were in her mynde
But only Litulle Jon.

“Let be your dule,” seid Litulle Jon,
“For his luf that dyed on tre;
Ze that shulde be duzty men,
Hit is gret shame to se.

“Oure maister has bene hard bystode,
And zet scapyd away;
Pluk up your hertes and leve this mone,
And herkyn what I shal say.

“He has seruyd our lady many a day,
And zet wil securly;
Therefore I trust in her specialy
No wycked deth shal he dye.

“Therfor be glad,” seid Litul Johne,
“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.