Brethren," said Little John,
"Here are no more but we three;
But we bring them to dinn-er,
Our master dare we not see.
Bend your bows," said Little John,
"Make all yon press to stand!
The foremost monk, his life and his death
Is clos-ed in my hand!
Abide, churl monk," said Little John,
"No farther that thou gone;
If thou dost, by dere-worthy God,
Thy death is in my hond.
And evil thrift on thy head," said Little John,
"Right under thy hat's bond,
For thou hast made our master wroth,
He is fast-ing so long."
"Who is your master?" said the monk.
Little John said, "Robin Hood."
"He is a strong thief," said the monk,
"Of him heard I never good."
"Thou liest!" then said Little John,
"And that shall rew-e thee;
He is a yeoman of the for-est,
To dine hath bod-e thee."
Much was ready with a bolt,
Redly and anon,
He set the monk tofore the breast,
To the ground that he can gon.
Of fifty-two wight young men,
There abode not one,
Save a little page, and a groom
To lead the somers with Little John.
They brought the monk to the lodge door,
Whether be were loth or lief,
For to speak with Robin Hood,
Maugr-e in their teeth.
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