A sword and a dagger he wore by his side,
Of manye a man the bane;[501]
And he was clad in his capull hyde[502]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 yeoman
To know what he doth meane.[503]40
Ah! John, by me thou settest noe store,
And that I farley[504] finde:[505]
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,[506]
So they parted Robin and John;50
And John is gone to Barnesdale:
The gates[507] he knoweth eche one.
But when he came to Barnesdale,
Great heavinesse there hee hadd,
For he found tow of his owne fellòwes55
Were slaine both in a slade.[508]
And Scarlette he was flyinge a-foote
Fast over stocke and stone,
For the sheriffe with seven score men
Fast after him is gone.60
One shoote now I will shoote, quoth John,[509]
With Christ his might and mayne;
Ile make yond fellow that flyes soe fast,
To stopp he shall be fayne.[510]
Then John bent up his long bende-bowe,[511]65
And fetteled[512] him to shoote:
The bow was made of a tender boughe,
And fell downe to his foote.
Woe worth, woe worth thee, wicked wood,[513]
That ere thou grew on a tree;70
For now this day thou art my bale,
My boote[514] when thou shold bee.