The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood by Howard Pyle (ebook reader online free txt) 📕

“Nay,” quoth jolly Robin, stopping suddenly, “had I thought that I should have had to wade water, even were it so crystal a stream as this, I had donned other clothes than I have upon me. But no matter now, for after all a wetting will not wash the skin away, and what must be, must. But bide ye here, lads, for I would enjoy this merry adventure alone. Nevertheless, listen well, and if ye hear me sound upon my bugle horn, come quickly.” So saying, he turned and left them, striding onward alone.

Robin had walked no farther than where the bend of the road hid his good men from his view, when he stopped suddenly, for he thought that he heard voices. He stood still and listened, and presently heard words passed back and forth betwixt what seemed to be two men, and yet the two voices were wondrously alike. The sound came from over behind the bank, that here was steep and high, dropping from the edge of the road a half a score of feet to the sedgy verge of the river.

“‘Tis strange,” muttered Robin to himself after a space, when the voices had ceased their talking, “surely there be two people that spoke the one to the other, and yet methinks their voices are mightily alike. I make my vow that never have I heard the like in all my life before. Truly, if this twain are to be judged by their voices, no two peas were ever more alike. I will look into this matter.” So saying, he came softly to the river bank and laying him down upon the grass, peered over the edge and down below.

All was cool and shady beneath the bank. A stout osier grew, not straight upward, but leaning across the water, shadowing the spot with its soft foliage. All around grew a mass of feathery ferns such as hide and nestle in cool places, and up to Robin’s nostrils came the tender odor of the wild thyme, that loves the moist verges of running streams. Here, with his broad back against the rugged trunk of the willow tree, and half hidden by the soft ferns around him, sat a stout, brawny fellow, but no other man was there. His head was as round as a ball, and covered with a mat of close-clipped, curly black hair that grew low down on his forehead. But his crown was shorn as smooth as the palm of one’s hand, which, together with his loose robe, cowl, and string of beads, showed that which his looks never would have done, that he was a friar. His cheeks were as red and shining as a winter crab, albeit they were nearly covered over with a close curly black beard, as were his chin and upper lip likewise. His neck was thick like that of a north country bull, and his round head closely set upon shoulders e’en a match for those of Little John himself. Beneath his bushy black brows danced a pair of little gray eyes that could not stand still for very drollery of humor. No man could look into his face and not feel his heartstrings tickled by the merriment of their look. By his side lay a steel cap, which he had laid off for the sake of the coolness to his crown. His legs were stretched wide apart, and betwixt his knees he held a great pasty compounded of juicy meats of divers kinds made savory with tender young onions, both meat and onions being mingled with a good rich gravy. In his right fist he held a great piece of brown crust at which he munched sturdily, and every now and then he thrust his left hand into the pie and drew it forth full of meat; anon he would take a mighty pull at a great bottle of Malmsey that lay beside him.

“By my faith,” quoth Robin to himself, “I do verily believe that this is the merriest feast, the merriest wight, the merriest place, and the merriest sight in all merry England. Methought there was another here, but it must have been this holy man talking to himself.”

So Robin lay watching the Friar, and the Friar, all unknowing that he was so overlooked, ate his meal placidly. At last he was done, and, having first wiped his greasy hands upon the ferns and wild thyme (and sweeter napkin ne’er had king in all the world), he took up his flask and began talking to himself as though he were another man, and answering himself as though he were somebody else.

“Dear lad, thou art the sweetest fellow in all the world, I do love thee as a lover loveth his lass. La, thou dost make me shamed to speak so to me in this solitary place, no one being by, and yet if thou wilt have me say so, I do love thee as thou lovest me. Nay then, wilt thou not take a drink of good Malmsey? After thee, lad, after thee. Nay, I beseech thee, sweeten the draught with thy lips (here he passed the flask from his right hand to his left). An thou wilt force it on me so, I must needs do thy bidding, yet with the more pleasure do I so as I drink thy very great health (here he took a long, deep draught). And now, sweet lad, ‘tis thy turn next (here he passed the bottle from his left hand back again to his right). I take it, sweet chuck, and here’s wishing thee as much good as thou wishest me.” Saying this, he took another draught, and truly he drank enough for two.

All this time merry Robin lay upon the bank and listened, while his stomach so quaked with laughter that he was forced to press his palm across his mouth to keep it from bursting forth; for, truly, he would not have spoiled such a goodly jest for the half of Nottinghamshire.

Having gotten his breath from his last draught, the Friar began talking again in this wise: “Now, sweet lad, canst thou not sing me a song? La, I know not, I am but in an ill voice this day; prythee ask me not; dost thou not hear how I croak like a frog? Nay, nay, thy voice is as sweet as any bullfinch; come, sing, I prythee, I would rather hear thee sing than eat a fair feast. Alas, I would fain not sing before one that can pipe so well and hath heard so many goodly songs and ballads, ne’ertheless, an thou wilt have it so, I will do my best. But now methinks that thou and I might sing some fair song together; dost thou not know a certain dainty little catch called `The Loving Youth and the Scornful Maid’? Why, truly, methinks I have heard it ere now. Then dost thou not think that thou couldst take the lass’s part gif I take the lad’s? I know not but I will try; begin thou with the lad and I will follow with the lass.”

Then, singing first with a voice deep and gruff, and anon in one high and squeaking, he blithely trolled the merry catch of

THE LOVING YOUTH AND THE SCORNFUL MAID _HE “Ah, it’s wilt thou come with me, my love? And it’s wilt thou, love, he mine? For I will give unto thee, my love, Gay knots and ribbons so fine. I’ll woo thee, love, on my bended knee, And I’ll pipe sweet songs to none but thee. Then 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, So come thou and be my love.

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_.”

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 before 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 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?”