Topp and tayll and mayne. {117}
Stand you still, master, quoth Little John,
Under this tree so grene,
And I will go to yond wight yeomàn,
To know what he doth meane.
“Ah ! John, by me thou settest noe store,
And that I farley finde :
How offt send I my men before,
And tarry my selfe behinde ?
It is no cunning a knave to ken,