"
"What will ye give more?" said the just-ice,
"And the knight shall make a release;
And ell-es dare I safely swear
Ye hold never your land in peace."
"An hundred pound," said the abb-ot.
The justice said, "Give him two."
"Na-y, by God," said the knight,
"Yet get ye it not so:
Though ye would give a thousand more,
Yet were thou never the nere;
Shall there never be mine heir,
Abb-ot, just-ice, ne frere."
He stert him to a board anon,
To a table round,
And there he shook out of a bag
Even fo-ur hundred pound.
"Have here thy gold, sir abb-ot," said the knight,
"Which that thou lentest me;
Haddest thou been curteys at my com-ing,
Rewarded shouldst thou have be."
The abb-ot sat still, and ate no more.
For all his royal cheer,
He cast his hood on his should-er,
And fast began to stare.
"Take me my gold again," said the abb-ot,
"Sir just-ice, that I took thee."
"Not a penny," said the just-ice,
"By him that died on a tree."
"Sir abbot, and ye men of law,
Now have I held my day,
Now shall I have my land again,
For aught that you can say."
The knight stert out of the door,
Away was all his care,
And on he put his good cloth-ing,
The other he left there.
Pages:
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110