[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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.
Page 181
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
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.
Page 182
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
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,
Page 183
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
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. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]