Maid Marian by Thomas Love Peacock (large screen ebook reader txt) 📗
- Author: Thomas Love Peacock
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The young man made no answer, and scarcely seemed to hear what Little John was saying, who therefore took the horse’s bridle and led him to where Robin and his foresters were setting forth their dinner. Robin seated the young man next to Marian. Recovering a little from his stupor, he looked with much amazement at her, and the baron, and Robin, and the friar; listened to their conversation, and seemed much astonished to find himself in such holy and courtly company. Robin helped him largely to rumble-pie and cygnet and pheasant, and the other dainties of his table; and the friar pledged him in ale and wine, and exhorted him to make good cheer. But the young man drank little, ate less, spake nothing, and every now and then sighed heavily.
When the repast was ended, “Now,” said Robin, “you are at liberty to pursue your journey: but first be pleased to pay for your dinner.”
“That would I gladly do, Robin,” said the young man, “but all I have about me are five shillings and a ring. To the five shillings you shall be welcome, but for the ring I will fight while there is a drop of blood in my veins.”
“Gallantly spoken,” said Robin Hood. “A love-token, without doubt: but you must submit to our forest laws. Little John must search; and if he find no more than you say, not a penny will I touch; but if you have spoken false, the whole is forfeit to our fraternity.”
“And with reason,” said the friar; “for thereby is the truth maintained The abbot of Doubleflask swore there was no money in his valise, and Little John forthwith emptied it of four hundred pounds. Thus was the abbot’s perjury but of one minute’s duration; for though his speech was false in the utterance, yet was it no sooner uttered than it became true, and we should have been participes criminis to have suffered the holy abbot to depart in falsehood: whereas he came to us a false priest, and we sent him away a true man. Marry, we turned his cloak to further account, and thereby hangs a tale that may be either said or sung; for in truth I am minstrel here as well as chaplain; I pray for good success to our just and necessary warfare, and sing thanks-giving odes when our foresters bring in booty:
Bold Robin has robed him in ghostly attire, And forth he is gone like a holy friar, Singing, hey down, ho down, down, derry down: And of two grey friars he soon was aware, Regaling themselves with dainty fare, All on the fallen leaves so brown. “Good morrow, good brothers,” said bold Robin Hood, “And what make you in the good greenwood, Singing hey down, ho down, down, derry down! Now give me, I pray you, wine and food; For none can I find in the good greenwood, All on the fallen leaves so brown.” “Good brother,” they said, “we would give you full fain, But we have no more than enough for twain, Singing, hey down, ho down, down, derry down.” “Then give me some money,” said bold Robin Hood, “For none can I find in the good greenwood, All on the fallen leaves so brown.” “No money have we, good brother,” said they: “Then,” said he, “we three for money will pray: Singing, hey down, ho down, down, derry down: And whatever shall come at the end of our prayer, We three holy friars will piously share, All on the fallen leaves so brown.” “We will not pray with thee, good brother, God wot: For truly, good brother, thou pleasest us not, Singing hey down, ho down, down, derry down:” Then up they both started from Robin to run, But down on their knees Robin pulled them each one, All on the fallen leaves so brown. The grey friars prayed with a doleful face, But bold Robin prayed with a right merry grace, Singing, hey down, ho down, down, derry down: And when they had prayed, their portmanteau he took, And from it a hundred good angels he shook, All on the fallen leaves so brown. “The saints,” said bold Robin, “have hearkened our prayer, And here’s a good angel apiece for your share: If more you would have, you must win ere you wear: Singing hey down, ho down, down, derry down:” Then he blew his good horn with a musical cheer, And fifty green bowmen came trooping full near, And away the grey friars they bounded like deer, All on the fallen leaves so brown.CHAPTER XIII What can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie, What can a young lassie do wi’an auld man? —BURNS.
“Here is but five shillings and a ring,” said Little John, “and the young man has spoken true.”
“Then,” said Robin to the stranger, “if want of money be the cause of your melancholy, speak. Little John is my treasurer, and he shall disburse to you.”
“It is, and it is not,” said the stranger; “it is, because, had I not wanted money I had never lost my love; it is not, because, now that I have lost her, money would come too late to regain her.”
“In what way have you lost her?” said Robin: “let us clearly know that she is past regaining, before we give up our wishes to restore her to you.”
“She is to be married this day,” said the stranger, “and perhaps is married by this, to a rich old knight; and yesterday I knew it not.”
“What is your name?” said Robin.
“Allen,” said the stranger.
“And where is the marriage to take place, Allen?” said Robin.
“At Edwinstow church,” said Allen, “by the bishop of Nottingham.”
“I know that bishop,” said Robin; “he dined with me a month since, and paid three hundred pounds for his dinner. He has a good ear and loves music. The friar sang to him to some tune. Give me my harper’s cloak, and I will play a part at this wedding.
“These are dangerous times, Robin,” said Marian, “for playing pranks out of the forest.”
“Fear not,” said Robin; “Edwinstow lies not Nottingham-ward, and I will take my precautions.”
Robin put on his harper’s cloak, while Little John painted his eyebrows and cheeks, tipped his nose with red, and tied him on a comely beard. Marian confessed, that had she not been present at the metamorphosis, she should not have known her own true Robin. Robin took his harp and went to the wedding.
Robin found the bishop and his train in the church porch, impatiently expecting the arrival of the bride and bridegroom. The clerk was observing to the bishop that the knight was somewhat gouty, and that the necessity of walking the last quarter of a mile from the road to the churchyard probably detained the lively bridegroom rather longer than had been calculated upon.
“Oh! by my fey,” said the music-loving bishop, “here comes a harper in the nick of time, and now I care not how long they tarry. Ho! honest friend, are you come to play at the wedding?”
“I am come to play anywhere,” answered Robin, “where I can get a cup of sack; for which I will sing the praise of the donor in lofty verse, and emblazon him with any virtue which he may wish to have the credit of
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