How Robin And His Outlaws Lived In The Woods

Robin and his merry men

  Lived just like the birds;

They had almost as many tracks as thoughts,

  And whistles and songs as words.

Up they were with the earliest sign

  Of the sun's up-looking eye;

But not an archer breakfasted

  Till he twinkled from the sky.

All the morning they were wont

  To fly their grey-goose quills

At butts, or wands, or trees, or twigs,

  Till theirs was the skill of skills.

With swords too they played lustily,

  And at quarter-staff;

Many a hit would have made some cry,

  Which only made them laugh.

The horn was then their dinner-bell;

  When like princes of the wood,

Under the glimmering summer trees,

  Pure venison was their food.

Pure venison and a little wine,

  Except when the skies were rough;

Or when they had a feasting day;

  For their blood was wine enough.

And story then, and joke, and song,

  And Harry's harp went round;

And sometimes they'd get up and dance,

  For pleasure of the sound.

Tingle, tangle! said the harp,

  As they footed in and out:

Good lord! it was a sight to see

      Their feathers float about;—

A pleasant sight, especially

  : If Margery was there,

Or little Ciss, or laughing Bess,

  : Or Moll with the clumps of hair;

Or any other merry lass

  : From the neighbouring villages,

Who came with milk and eggs, or fruit,

  : A singing through the trees.

For all the country round about

  : Was fond of Robin Hood,

With whom they got a share of more

  : Than the acorns in the wood;

Nor ever would he suffer harm

  : To woman, above all;

No plunder, were she ne'er so great,

  : No fright to great or small;

No,—not a single kiss unliked,

  : Nor one look-saddening clip;

Accurst be he, said Robin Hood,

  : Makes pale a woman's lip.

Only on the haughty rich,

  : And on their unjust store,

He'd lay his fines of equity

  : For his merry men and the poor.

And special was his joy, no doubt

  : (Which made the dish to curse)

To light upon a good fat friar,

  : And carve him of his purse.

A monk to him was a toad in the hole,

  : And an abbot a pig in grain,

But a bishop was a baron of beef,

  : With cut and come again.

Never poor man came for help,

  And wnet away denied;

Never woman for redress,

  And went away wet-eyed.

Says Robin to the poor who came

  : To ask of him relief,

You do but get your goods again,

  : That were altered by the thief;

There, ploughman, is a sheaf of your's

  : Turned to yellow gold;

And, miller, there's your last year's rent,

  : 'Twill wrap thee from the cold:

And you there, Wat of Lancashire,

  : Who such a way have come,

Get upon your land-tax, man,

  : And ride it merrily home.