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Then iudge of vs thy friends, what kinde of life, we had, That neere the frozen pole to waste our weary dayes were glad. In such a sauage soile, weere lawes do beare no sway, But all is at the king his will, to saue or else to slay. And that sans cause, God wot, if so his minde be such. But what meane I with Kings to deale? we ought no Saints to touch.
"There stood," as Stanihurst relates, "in Ostmantowne greene an hillocke, named Little John his shot. The occasion," he says, proceeded of this "In the yeere one thousand one hundred foure score and nine, there ranged three robbers and outlaws in England, among which Robert Hood and Little John weere cheefeteins, of all theeves doubtlesse the most courteous.
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