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,