"Sweavens are swift, master," quoth John,
"As the wind that blowes ore a hill;
For iff itt be never so loude this night,
To-morrow itt may be still."20
"Buske yee, bowne yee, my merry men all,
And John shall goe with mee,
For Ile goe seeke yond wight yeomèn,
In greenwood where [they] bee."
Then they cast on their gownes of grene,25
And tooke theyr bowes each one;
And [they] away to the greene forrèst
A shooting forth are gone;
Until they came to the merry greenwood,
Where they had gladdest bee;30
There were [they] ware of a wight yeomàn,
His body leaned to a tree.
A sword and a dagger he wore by his side,
Of manye a man the bane;
And he was clad in his capull hyde,35
Topp and tayll and mayne.
"Stand you still, master," quoth Litle John,
"Under this tree so grene,
And I will go to yond wight yeomàn,
To know what he doth meane."40
"Ah! John, by me thou settest noe store,
And that I farley finde:
How offt send I my men beffore,
And tarry my selfe behinde?
"It is no cunning a knave to ken,45
And a man but heare him speake;
And itt were not for bursting of my bowe,
John, I thy head wold breake."
As often wordes they breeden bale,
So they parted Robin and John;50
And John is gone to Barnesdale;
The gates he knoweth eche one.
But when he came to Barnesdale,
Great heavinesse there hee hadd,
For he found tow of his owne fellòwes,55
Were slaine both in a slade.