Fryer, I will not lie.
If thou tak'st not up thy dogs,
I'll take them up for thee."
Little John had a bowe in his hands.
He shot with mighte and maine;
Soon half a score of the fryer's dogs
Lay dead upon the plaine.
"Hold thy hand, good fellow," said the curtail fryer.
"Thy master and I will agree,
And we will have new order ta'en