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But the Cook did not lag far behind, for straightway his hands
also were deeply thrust within the goodly pasty. After this,
neither of them spoke further, but used their teeth to better purpose.
But though neither spoke, they looked at one another, each thinking
within himself that he had never seen a more lusty fellow than
the one across the board.
At last, after a long time had passed, the Cook drew
a full, deep breath, as though of much regret, and wiped
his hands upon the napkin, for he could eat no more.
Little John, also, had enough, for he pushed the pasty aside,
as though he would say, "I want thee by me no more, good friend."
Then he took the pottle of sack, and said he, "Now, good fellow,
I swear by all that is bright, that thou art the stoutest
companion at eating that ever I had. Lo! I drink thy health."
So saying, he clapped the flask to his lips and cast
his eyes aloft, while the good wine flooded his throat.
Then he passed the pottle to the Cook, who also said, "Lo, I
drink thy health, sweet fellow!" Nor was he behind Little John
in drinking any more than in eating.
"Now," quoth Little John, "thy voice is right round and sweet, jolly lad.
I doubt not thou canst sing a ballad most blithely; canst thou not?"
"Truly, I have trolled one now and then," quoth the Cook,
"yet I would not sing alone."
"Nay, truly," said Little John, "that were but ill courtesy.
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Strike up thy ditty, and I will afterward sing one to match it,
if I can.
"So be it, pretty boy," quoth the Cook. "And hast thou e'er heard the song
of the Deserted Shepherdess?"
"Truly, I know not," answered Little John, "but sing thou and let me hear."
Then the Cook took another draught from the pottle, and, clearing his throat,
sang right sweetly:
THE SONG OF THE DESERTED SHEPHERDESS
"_In Lententime, when leaves wax green,
And pretty birds begin to mate,
When lark cloth sing, and thrush, I ween,
And stockdove cooeth soon and late,
Fair Phillis sat beside a stone,
And thus I heard her make her moan:
'O willow, willow, willow, willow!
I'll take me of thy branches fair
And twine a wreath to deck my hair.
" `The thrush hath taken him a she,
The robin, too, and eke the dove;
My Robin hath deserted me,
And left me for another love.
So here, by brookside, all alone,
I sit me down and make my moan.
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O willow, willow, willow, willow!
I'll take me of thy branches fair
And twine a wreath to deck my hair.'
"But ne'er came herring from the sea,
But good as he were in the tide;
Young Corydon came o'er the lea,
And sat him Phillis down beside.
So, presently, she changed her tone,
And 'gan to cease her from her moan,
'O willow, willow, willow, willow!
Thou mayst e'en keep thy garlands fair,
I want them not to deck my hair_.' "
"Now, by my faith," cried Little John, "that same is a right good song,
and hath truth in it, also."
"Glad am I thou likest it, sweet lad," said the Cook. "Now sing
thou one also, for ne'er should a man be merry alone, or sing
and list not."
"Then I will sing thee a song of a right good knight of Arthur's court,
and how he cured his heart's wound without running upon the dart again, as
did
thy Phillis; for I wot she did but cure one smart by giving herself another.
So, list thou while I sing:
THE GOOD KNIGHT AND HIS LOVE
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"_When Arthur, King, did rule this land,
A goodly king was he,
And had he of stout knights a band
Of merry company.
"Among them all, both great and small,
A good stout knight was there,
A lusty childe, and eke a tall,
That loved a lady fair.
"But nought would she to do with he,
But turned her face away;
So gat he gone to far countrye,
And left that lady gay.
"There all alone he made his moan,
And eke did sob and sigh,
And weep till it would move a stone,
And he was like to die.
"But still his heart did feel the smart,
And eke the dire distress,
And rather grew his pain more sharp
As grew his body less.
"Then gat he back where was good sack
And merry com panye,
And soon did cease to cry `Alack!'
When blithe and gay was he.
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"From which I hold, and feel full bold
To say, and eke believe, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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