one corner, or to kill a deer in another, it would
be, ‘where is the dog Priest?’ says one.
’Who has seen the accursed Tuck?’ says
another. ’The unfrocked villain destroys
more venison than half the country besides,’
says one keeper; ’And is hunting after every
shy doe in the country!’ quoth a second. —–In
fine, good my Liege, I pray you to leave me as you
found me; or, if in aught you desire to extend your
benevolence to me, that I may be considered as the
poor Clerk of Saint Dunstan’s cell in Copmanhurst,
to whom any small donation will be most thankfully
acceptable.”
“I understand thee,” said the King, “and
the Holy Clerk shall have a grant of vert and venison
in my woods of Warncliffe. Mark, however, I will
but assign thee three bucks every season; but if that
do not prove an apology for thy slaying thirty, I am
no Christian knight nor true king.”
“Your Grace may be well assured,” said
the Friar, “that, with the grace of Saint Dunstan,
I shall find the way of multiplying your most bounteous
gift.”
“I nothing doubt it, good brother,” said
the King; “and as venison is but dry food, our
cellarer shall have orders to deliver to thee a butt
of sack, a runlet of Malvoisie, and three hogsheads
of ale of the first strike, yearly—–If
that will not quench thy thirst, thou must come to
court, and become acquainted with my butler.”
“But for Saint Dunstan?” said the Friar—–
“A cope, a stole, and an altar-cloth shalt thou
also have,” continued the King, crossing himself—–“But
we may not turn our game into earnest, lest God punish
us for thinking more on our follies than on his honour
and worship.”
“I will answer for my patron,” said the
Priest, joyously.
“Answer for thyself, Friar,” said King
Richard, something sternly; but immediately stretching
out his hand to the Hermit, the latter, somewhat abashed,
bent his knee, and saluted it. “Thou dost
less honour to my extended palm than to my clenched
fist,” said the Monarch; “thou didst only
kneel to the one, and to the other didst prostrate
thyself.”
But the Friar, afraid perhaps of again giving offence
by continuing the conversation in too jocose a style—–a
false step to be particularly guarded against by those
who converse with monarchs—– bowed
profoundly, and fell into the rear.
At the same time, two additional personages appeared
on the scene.
All hail to the lordlings of high degree,
Who live not more happy, though greater than we!
Our pastimes to see,
Under every green tree,
In all the gay woodland, right welcome ye be.
Macdonald
The new comers were Wilfred of Ivanhoe, on the Prior
of Botolph’s palfrey, and Gurth, who attended
him, on the Knight’s own war-horse. The
astonishment of Ivanhoe was beyond bounds, when he
saw his master besprinkled with blood, and six or seven
dead bodies lying around in the little glade in which
the battle had taken place. Nor was he less surprised
to see Richard surrounded by so many silvan attendants,
the outlaws, as they seemed to be, of the forest,
and a perilous retinue therefore for a prince.
He hesitated whether to address the King as the Black
Knight-errant, or in what other manner to demean himself
towards him. Richard saw his embarrassment.
