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Файл:The Merry Adventures Of Robin Hood Of Great Renown, In Nottinghamshire
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canter. So they galloped for a mile and more, and Little
John ran betwixt them as lightly as a stag and never turned
a hair with the running. At last the fat Brother drew his
horse’s rein with a groan, for he could stand the shaking
no
longer. ‘Alas,’ said Little John, with not so much as a catch
in his breath, ‘I did sadly fear that the roughness of this
pace would shake thy poor old fat paunch.’
To this the fat Friar said never a word, but he stared
straight before
him, and he gnawed his nether lip. And now
they traveled forward more quietly, Little John in the middle of the road whistling merrily to himself, and the two
friars in the footpath on either side saying never a word.
en present
ly they met three merry minstrels, all clad
in red, who stared amain to see a Gray Friar with such short
robes walking in the middle of the road, and two brothers.
with heads bowed with shame, riding upon richly capari-
soned cobs on the footpaths. When they had come near to
the minstrels, Little John waved his sta like an usher clearing the way. ‘Make way!’ he cried in a loud voice. ‘Make
way! make way! For here we go, we three!’ en how the
minstrels
stared, and how they laughed! But the fat Friar
shook as with an ague, and the lean Friar bowed his head
over his horse’s neck.
en next they met two noble knights in rich array, with
hawk on wrist, and likewise two fair ladies cla
d in silks and
velvets, all a-riding on noble steeds. ese all made room,
staring, as Little John and the two friars came along the
road. To them Little John bowed humbly. ‘Give you greetings, lords and l
adies,’ said he. ‘But here we go, we three.’
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261
en all laughed, and one of the fair ladies cried out,
‘What three meanest thou, merry friend?’
Little John looked over his shoulder, for they had now
passed each other, and he called back, ‘Big Jack, lean Jack
and fat Jack-pudding.’
At this the fat Friar gave a groan and seemed as if he were
like to fall from his saddle for shame; the other brother said
nothing, but he looked before him with a grim and stony
look.
Just ahead of them the road took a sudden turn around
high hedge, and some twoscore paces beyond the bend
a
another road crossed the one they were riding upon. When
they had come to the crossroad and were well away from
those they had le, the lean Friar drew rein suddenly. ‘Look
ye, fellow,’ quoth he
in a voice quivering with rage, ‘we have
had enough of thy vile company, and care no longer to be
made sport of. Go thy way, and let us go ours in peace.’
‘La there, now!’ quoth Little John. ‘Methought we were
such a merry company, and
here thou dost blaze up like fat
in the pan. But truly, I ha’ had enow of you today, though I
can ill spare your company. I know ye will miss me, but gin
ye want me again, whisper to Goodman Wind, and he will
bring news thereof
to me. But ye see I am a poor man and ye
are rich. I pray you give me a penny or two to buy me bread
and cheese at the next inn.’
‘We have no money, fellow,’ said the lean Friar harshly.
‘Come, Brother omas, let us forwar
d.’
But Little John caught the horses by the bridle reins, one
in either hand. ‘Ha’ ye in truth no money about you whatso-
THE MERRY ADVENTURES OF R OBIN H OOD262
261
ever?’ said he. ‘Now, I pray you, brothers, for charity’s sake,
give me somewhat to buy a crust of bread, e’en though it be
only a penny.’
‘I tell thee, fellow, we have no money,’ thundered the fat
little Friar with the great voice.
‘Ha’ ye, in
holy truth, no money?’ asked Little John.
‘Not a farthing,’ said the lean Friar sourly.
‘Not a groat,’ said the fat Friar loudly.
‘Nay,’ quoth Little John, ‘this must not be. Far be it from
me to see such holy men as ye are depart
from me with no
money. Get both of you down straightway from o your
horses, and we will kneel here in the middle of the crossroads and pray the blessed Saint Dunstan to send us some
money to carry us on our journey.’
‘What sayest thou,
thou limb of evil!’ cried the lean Friar,
fairly gnashing his teeth with rage. ‘Doss thou bid me, the
high cellarer of Fountain Abbey, to get down from my horse
and kneel in the dirty road to pray to some beggarly Saxon
saint?’
‘Now,’ quoth Litt
le John, ‘I ha’ a great part of a mind to
crack thy head for thee for speaking thus of the good Saint
Dunstan! But get down straightway, for my patience will
not last much longer, and I may forget that ye are both in
holy orders.’ So saying, he
twirled his stout sta till it whis-
tled again.
At this speech both friars grew as pale as dough. Down
slipped the fat Brother from o his horse on one side, and
down slipped the lean Brother on the other.
‘Now, brothers, down on
your knees and pray,’ said Little
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T M A R H
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John; thereupon, putting his heavy hands upon the shoulder of each, he forced them to their knees, he kneeling also.
en Little John began to beseech Saint Dunstan for money,
which he did in a great loud voice. Aer he had so besought
Saint for a time, he bade the friars feel in their pouches
the
and see if the Saint had sent them anything; so each put his
hand slowly in the pouch that hung beside him, but brought
nothing thence.
‘Ha!’ quoth Little John, ‘have your prayers so
little virtue?
en let us at it again.’ en straightway he began calling
on Saint Dunstan again, somewhat in this wise: ‘O gracious
Saint Dunstan! Send some money straightway to these poor
folk, lest the fat one waste away and grow as lean as the
lean one,
and the lean one waste away to nothing at all, ere
they get to Lincoln Town; but send them only ten shillings
apiece, lest they grow pued up with pride, Any more than
that that thou sendest, send to me.
‘Now,’ quoth he, rising, ‘l
et us see what each man hath.’
en he thrust his hand into his pouch and drew thence
four golden angels. ‘What have ye, brothers?’ said he.
en once again each friar slowly thrust his hand into
his pouch, and once again brought it out with nothing
in it.
‘Have ye nothing?’ quoth Little John. ‘Nay, I warrant
there is somewhat that hath crept into the seams of your
pouches, and so ye ha’ missed it. Let me look.’
So he went rst to the lean Friar, and, thrusting his hand
into the pouch, he drew forth
a leathern bag and counted
therefrom one hundred and ten pounds of golden money.
‘I thought,’ quoth Little John, ‘that thou hadst missed, in
THE MERRY ADVENTURES OF R OBIN H OOD264
263
some odd corner of thy pouch, the money that the blessed
Saint had sent thee. And now let me see whether thou hast
not some, also, brother.’ ereupon he thrust his hand into
the pouch of the fat Friar and drew thence a bag like the
other and counte
d out from it threescore and ten pounds.
‘Look ye now,’ quoth he, ‘I knew the good Saint had sent
thee some pittance that thou, also, hadst missed.’
en, giving them one pound between them, he slipped
the rest of the money into his own pouch, saying, ‘Y
e pledged
me your holy word that ye had no money. Being holy men, I
trust that ye would not belie your word so pledged, therefore
I know the good Saint Dunstan hath sent this in answer to
my prayers. But as I only
prayed for ten shillings to be sent
to each of you, all over and above that belongeth by rights to
me, and so I take it. I give you good den, brothers, and may
ye have a pleasant journey henceforth.’ So saying, he turned
and le them, striding away.
e friars looked at one another with a woeful look, and slowly and sadly they mounted
their horses again and rode away with never a word.
But Little John turned his footsteps back again to Sher-
wood Forest, and merrily he whistle
d as he strode along.
And now we will see what befell Robin Hood in his ven-
ture as beggar.
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T M A R H
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Robin Hood Turns Beggar
FTER JOLLY ROBIN had le Little John at the forking
A
of the roads, he walked merrily onward in the mellow
sunshine that shone about him. Ever and anon he would
skip and leap or sing a snatch of song, for pure joyousness
of the day
his heart was as lusty within him as that of a colt newly
turned out to grass. Sometimes he would walk a long distance, gazing alo at the great white swelling clouds
moved slowly across the deep blue sky; anon he would stop
and drink in the fullness of life of all things, for the hedge-
rows were budding tenderly and the grass of the meadows
was waxing long and green; again
listen to the pretty song of the little birds in the thickets
or hearken to the clear crow of the cock daring the sky to
rain, whereat he would laugh, for it took but little to tickle Robin’s heart
along, ever willing to stop for this reason or for that, and
ever ready to chat with such merry lasses as he met now
and then. So the morning slipped along, but yet he met no
beggar with
do not change my luck in haste, I am like to have an empty
day of it, for it is well nigh half gone already, and, although
I have had a merry walk through the countrysi
nought of a beggar’s life.’
; for, because of the sweetness of the springtide,
that
he would stand still and
into merriment. So he trudged manfully
whom he could change clothes. Quoth he, ‘If I
de, I know
THE MERRY ADVENTURES OF R OBIN H OOD266
265
en, aer a while, he began to grow hungry, whereupon
his mind turned from thoughts of springtime and owers
and birds and dwelled upon boiled capons, Malmsey, white
bread, and the like, with great tenderness. Quoth he to himself, ‘I would I ha
d Willie Wynkin’s wishing coat; I know
right well what I should wish for, and this it should be.’ Here
he marked upon the ngers of his le hand with the fore-
nger of his right hand those things which he wished for.
‘Firstly, I would have a sweet brown pie
of tender larks; mark
ye, not dry cooked, but with a good sop of gravy to moisten
it withal. Next, I would have a pretty pullet, fairly boiled,
with tender pigeons’ eggs, cunningly sliced, garnishing the
platter around.
With these I would have a long, slim loaf
of wheaten bread that hath been baked upon the hearth; it
should be warm from the re, with glossy brown crust, the
color of the hair of mine own Maid Marian, and this same
crust should be as crisp
and brittle as the thin white ice that
lies across the furrows in the early winter’s morning. ese
will do for the more solid things; but with these I must have
three potties, fat and round, one full of Malmsey, one of Canary, and one
brimming full of mine own dear lusty sack.’
us spoke Robin to himself, his mouth growing moist at
the corners with the thoughts of the good things he had
raised in his own mind.
So, talking to himself, he came to where the dusty road
turned sharpl
y around the hedge, all tender with the green
of the coming leaf, and there he saw before him a stout fellow sitting upon a stile, swinging his legs in idleness. All
about this lusty rogue dangled divers pouches and bags of
266
T M A R H
267
dierent sizes and kinds, a dozen or more, with great, wide,
gaping mouths, like a brood of hungry daws. His coat was
gathered in at his waist, and was patched with as many col-
ors as there are stripes upon a Maypole in the springtid
e.
On his head he wore a great tall leathern cap, and across his
knees rested a stout quartersta of blackthorn, full as long
and heavy as Robin’s. As jolly a beggar was he as ever trod
the lanes and byways of Nottinghamshire, for his eyes were
as gray
as slate, and snapped and twinkled and danced with
merriment, and his black hair curled close all over his head
in little rings of kinkiness.
‘Halloa, good fellow,’ quoth Robin, when he had come
nigh to the other, ‘what art thou doing
here this merry day,
when the owers are peeping and the buds are swelling?’
en the other winked one eye and straightway trolled
forth in a merry voice:
‘I sit upon the stile,
And I sing a little while
As I wait for my own true dear, O,
For the sun is shining bright,
And the leaves are dancing light,
And the little fowl sings she is near, O.
‘And so it is with me, bully boy, saving that my doxy co-
meth not.’
that is a right sweet song,’ quoth Robin, ‘and, were
‘Now
I in the right mind to listen to thee, I could bear well to hear
more; but I have two things of seriousness to ask of thee; so
THE MERRY ADVENTURES OF R OBIN H OOD268
267
listen, I prythee.’
At this the jolly Beggar cocked his head on one side, like
a rogue of a magpie. Quoth he, ‘I am an ill jug to pour heavy
things into, good friend, and, if I mistake not, thou hast few
serious words to spare at any time.’
‘Nay,’ quoth jolly Robin, ‘what I would say rst is the
most serious of all thoughts to me, to wit, ‘Where shall I get
somewhat to eat and drink?‘
‘Sayst thou so?’ quoth the Beggar. ‘Marry, I make no such
serious thoughts upon the matter. I eat when I can get it,
and munch
my crust when I can get no crumb; likewise,
when there is no ale to be had I wash the dust from out my
throat with a trickle of cold water. I was sitting here, as thou
camest upon me, bethinking myself whether I should break
my fast or no. I do l
ove to let my hunger grow mightily keen
ere I eat, for then a dry crust is as good to me as a venison
pasty with suet and raisins is to stout King Harry. I have a
sharp hunger upon me now, but methinks in a short while
it will ripen
to a right mellow appetite.’
‘Now, in good sooth,’ quoth merry Robin, laughing, ‘thou
hast a quaint tongue betwixt thy teeth. But hast thou truly
nought but a dry crust about thee? Methinks thy bags and
pouches are fat and lusty for such thin fare.’
‘Why, mayhap
there is some other cold fare therein,’ said
the Beggar slyly.
‘And hast thou nought to drink but cold water?’ said Rob-
in.
‘Never so much as a drop,’ quoth the Beggar. ‘Over be-
yond yon clump of trees is as sweet a little inn as ever
thou
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hast lied eyelid upon; but I go not thither, for they have
a nasty way with me. Once, when the good Prior of Em-
met was dining there, the landlady set a dear little tart of
stewed crabs and barley sugar upon the window si
ll to cool,
and, seeing it there, and fearing it might be lost, I took it
with me till that I could nd the owner thereof. Ever since
then they have acted very ill toward me; yet truth bids me
say that they have the best ale there that
ever rolled over my
tongue.’
At this Robin laughed aloud. ‘Marry,’ quoth he, ‘they did
ill toward thee for thy kindness. But tell me truly, what hast
thou in thy pouches?’
‘Why,’ quoth the Beggar, peeping into the mouths of
his bags, ‘I nd here a goodl
y piece of pigeon pie, wrapped
in a cabbage leaf to hold the gravy. Here I behold a dainty
streaked piece of brawn, and here a fair lump of white bread.
Here I nd four oaten cakes and a cold knuckle of ham. Ha!
In sooth, ‘tis strange; but here
I behold six eggs that must
have come by accident from some poultry yard hereabouts.
ey are raw, but roasted upon the coals and spread with a
piece of butter that I see—‘
‘Peace, good friend!’ cried Robin, holding up his hand.
‘ou makest my
poor stomach quake with joy for what
thou tellest me so sweetly. If thou wilt give me to eat, I
will straightway hie me to that little inn thou didst tell of
but now, and will bring a skin of ale for thy drinking and
mine.’
‘Friend, thou hast said enough,’ said the Beggar, getting
down from the stile. ‘I will feast thee with the best that I
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