"Stand still, master," quoth Little John,
"Under this tree so grene,
And I will go to yond wighty yeoman,
To know what he doth meane."
"Ah! John, by me thou settest noe store,
And that I farly finde:
How often send I my men before,
And tarry my selfe behinde?
"It is no cunning a knave to ken,
And a man but heare him speake;