“Schall y haff yowr forty shillings,” seyde Lytel John,
“Or ye, master, schall haffe myne?”
“Yeff they wer a hundred,” seyde Roben,
“Y feythe, they ben all theyne.”

“Het ys fol leytell cortesey,” seyde the potter,
“As y haffe harde weyse men saye,
Yeff a por yeman com drywyng ower the wey,
To let hem of hes gorney.”

“Be mey trowet, thow seys soyt,” seyde Roben,
“Thow seys god yemenrey;
And thow dreyffe forthe yevery day,
Thow schalt never be let for me.

“Y well prey the, god potter,
A felischepe well thow haffe? 
Geffe me they clothyng, and thow schalt hafe myne;
Y well go to Notynggam.”

“Y grant therto,” seyde the potter,
“Thow schalt feynde me a felow gode;
But thow can sell mey pottes well,
Come ayen as thow yode.”

“Nay, be mey trowt,” seyde Roben,
“And then y bescro mey hede
Yeffe y bryng eney pottes ayen,
And eney weyffe well hem chepe.”

Than spake Leytell John,
And all hes felowhes heynd,
“Master, be well war of the screffe of Notynggam,
For he ys leytell howr frende.”

“Heyt war howte,” seyde Roben,
“Felowhes, let me alone;
Thorow the helpe of howr ladey,
To Notynggam well y gon.”

Robyn went to Notynggam,
Thes pottes for to sell;
The potter abode with Robens men,
Ther he fered not eylle.

Tho Roben droffe on hes wey,
So merey ower the londe: 
Heres mor and affter ys to saye,
The best ys beheynde.

[The second fit.]

When Roben cam to Netynggam,
The soyt yef y scholde saye,
He set op hes horse anon,
And gaffe hem hotys and haye.

Yn the medys of the towne,
Ther he schowed hes war;
“Pottys! pottys!” he gan crey foll sone,
“Haffe hansell for the mar.”

Foll effen agenest the screffeys gate
Schowed he hes chaffar;
Weyffes and wedowes abowt hem drow,
And chepyd fast of hes war.

Yet, “Pottys, gret chepe!” creyed Robyn,
“Y loffe yeffell thes to stonde;”
And all that saw hem sell,
Seyde he had be no potter long.

The pottys that wer werthe pens feyffe,
He sold tham for pens thre;
Preveley seyde man and weyffe,
“Ywnder potter schall never the.”

Thos Roben solde foll fast,
Tell he had pottys bot feyffe;
On he hem toke of his car,
And sende hem to the screffeys weyffe.

Therof sche was foll fayne,
“Gramarsey, sir,” than seyde sche;
“When ye com to thes contre ayen,
Y schall bey of they pottys, so mot y the.”

“Ye schall haffe of the best,” seyde Roben,
And swar be the treneyte;
Foll corteysley she gan hem call,
“Com deyne with the screfe and me.”

“Godamarsey,” seyde Roben,
“Yowr bedyng schalle be doyn;”
A mayden yn the pottys gan ber,
Roben and the screffe weyffe folowed anon.

Whan Roben ynto the hall cam,
The screffe sone he met;
The potter cowed of corteysey,
And sone the screffe he gret.