The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood

SHE
"Now get thee away, young man so fine;
Now get thee away, I say;
For my true love shall never be thine,
And so thou hadst better not stay.
Thou art not a fine enough lad for me,
So I'll wait till a better young man I see.
For it's hark! hark! hark!
To the winged lark,
And it's hark to the cooing dove!
And the bright daffodil
Groweth down by the rill,
Yet never I'll be thy love.
HE
"Then straight will I seek for another fair she,
For many a maid can be found,
And as thou wilt never have aught of me,
By thee will I never be bound.
For never is a blossom in the field so rare,
But others are found that are just as fair.
So it's hark! hark! hark!
To the joyous lark
And it's hark to the cooing dove!
And the bright daffodil
Groweth down by the rill,
And I'll seek me another dear love.
SHE
"Young man, turn not so very quick away
Another fair lass to find.
Methinks I have spoken in haste today,
Nor have I made up my mind,
And if thou only wilt stay with me,
I'll love no other, sweet lad, but thee."
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Here Robin could contain himself no longer but burst forth into a
mighty roar of laughter; then, the holy Friar keeping on with the song, he
joined in the chorus, and together they sang, or, as one might say,
bellowed:
"So it's hark! hark! hark!
To the joyous lark
And it's hark to the cooing dove!
For the bright daffodil
Groweth down by the rill
And I'll be thine own true love."
So they sang together, for the stout Friar did not seem to have heard
Robin's laughter, neither did he seem to know that the yeoman had
joined in with the song, but, with eyes half closed, looking straight be-
fore him and wagging his round head from side to side in time to the
music, he kept on bravely to the end, he and Robin finishing up with a
mighty roar that might have been heard a mile. But no sooner had the
last word been sung than the holy man seized his steel cap, clapped it on
his head, and springing to his feet, cried in a great voice, "What spy have
we here? Come forth, thou limb of evil, and I will carve thee into as fine
pudding meat as e'er a wife in Yorkshire cooked of a Sunday." Hereupon
he drew from beneath his robes a great broadsword full as stout as was
Robin's.
"Nay, put up thy pinking iron, friend," quoth Robin, standing up with
the tears of laughter still on his cheeks. "Folk who have sung so sweetly
together should not fight thereafter." Hereupon he leaped down the bank
to where the other stood. "I tell thee, friend," said he, "my throat is as
parched with that song as e'er a barley stubble in October. Hast thou
haply any Malmsey left in that stout pottle?"
"Truly," said the Friar in a glum voice, "thou dost ask thyself freely
where thou art not bidden. Yet I trust I am too good a Christian to refuse
any man drink that is athirst. Such as there is o't thou art welcome to a
drink of the same." And he held the pottle out to Robin.
Robin took it without more ado and putting it to his lips, tilted his
head back, while that which was within said "glug! lug! glug!" for more
than three winks, I wot. The stout Friar watched Robin anxiously the
while, and when he was done took the pottle quickly. He shook it, held it
betwixt his eyes and the light, looked reproachfully at the yeoman, and
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straightway placed it at his own lips. When it came away again there
was nought within it.
"Doss thou know the country hereabouts, thou good and holy man?"
asked Robin, laughing.
"Yea, somewhat," answered the other dryly.
"And dost thou know of a certain spot called Fountain Abbey?"
"Yea, somewhat."
"Then perchance thou knowest also of a certain one who goeth by the
name of the Curtal Friar of Fountain Abbey."
"Yea, somewhat."
"Well then, good fellow, holy father, or whatever thou art," quoth
Robin, "I would know whether this same Friar is to be found upon this
side of the river or the other."
"That," quoth the Friar, "is a practical question upon which the cun-
ning rules appertaining to logic touch not. I do advise thee to find that
out by the aid of thine own five senses; sight, feeling, and what not."
"I do wish much," quoth Robin, looking thoughtfully at the stout
priest, "to cross yon ford and strive to find this same good Friar."
"Truly," said the other piously, "it is a goodly wish on the part of one
so young. Far be it from me to check thee in so holy a quest. Friend, the
river is free to all."
"Yea, good father," said Robin, "but thou seest that my clothes are of
the finest and I fain would not get them wet. Methinks thy shoulders are
stout and broad; couldst thou not find it in thy heart to carry me across?"
"Now, by the white hand of the holy Lady of the Fountain!" burst forth
the Friar in a mighty rage, "dost thou, thou poor puny stripling, thou
kiss-my-lady-la poppenjay; thou—thou What shall I call thee? Dost thou
ask me, the holy Tuck, to carry thee? Now I swear—" Here he paused
suddenly, then slowly the anger passed from his face, and his little eyes
twinkled once more. "But why should I not?" quoth he piously.
"Did not the holy Saint Christopher ever carry the stranger across the
river? And should I, poor sinner that I am, be ashamed to do likewise?
Come with me, stranger, and I will do thy bidding in an humble frame of
mind." So saying, he clambered up the bank, closely followed by Robin,
and led the way to the shallow pebbly ford, chuckling to himself the
while as though he were enjoying some goodly jest within himself.
Having come to the ford, he girded up his robes about his loins,
tucked his good broadsword beneath his arm, and stooped his back to
take Robin upon it. Suddenly he straightened up. "Methinks," quoth he,
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