In merry England in the time of old,
when good King Henry the Second ruled the land, there
lived within the green glades of Sherwood Forest,
near Nottingham Town, a famous outlaw whose name was
Robin Hood. No archer ever lived that could speed
a gray goose shaft with such skill and cunning as
his, nor were there ever such yeomen as the sevenscore
merry men that roamed with him through the greenwood
shades. Right merrily they dwelled within the
depths of Sherwood Forest, suffering neither care
nor want, but passing the time in merry games of archery
or bouts of cudgel play, living upon the King’s
venison, washed down with draughts of ale of October
brewing.
Not only Robin himself but all the band were outlaws
and dwelled apart from other men, yet they were beloved
by the country people round about, for no one ever
came to jolly Robin for help in time of need and went
away again with an empty fist.
And now I will tell how it came about that Robin Hood
fell afoul of the law.
When Robin was a youth of eighteen, stout of sinew
and bold of heart, the Sheriff of Nottingham proclaimed
a shooting match and offered a prize of a butt of
ale to whosoever should shoot the best shaft in Nottinghamshire.
“Now,” quoth Robin, “will I go too,
for fain would I draw a string for the bright eyes
of my lass and a butt of good October brewing.”
So up he got and took his good stout yew bow and a
score or more of broad clothyard arrows, and started
off from Locksley Town through Sherwood Forest to
Nottingham.
It was at the dawn of day in the merry Maytime, when
hedgerows are green and flowers bedeck the meadows;
daisies pied and yellow cuckoo buds and fair primroses
all along the briery hedges; when apple buds blossom
and sweet birds sing, the lark at dawn of day, the
throstle cock and cuckoo; when lads and lasses look
upon each other with sweet thoughts; when busy housewives
spread their linen to bleach upon the bright green
grass. Sweet was the greenwood as he walked along
its paths, and bright the green and rustling leaves,
amid which the little birds sang with might and main:
and blithely Robin whistled as he trudged along, thinking
of Maid Marian and her bright eyes, for at such times
a youth’s thoughts are wont to turn pleasantly
upon the lass that he loves the best.
As thus he walked along with a brisk step and a merry
whistle, he came suddenly upon some foresters seated
beneath a great oak tree. Fifteen there were
in all, making themselves merry with feasting and drinking
as they sat around a huge pasty, to which each man
helped himself, thrusting his hands into the pie,
and washing down that which they ate with great horns
of ale which they drew all foaming from a barrel that
stood nigh. Each man was clad in Lincoln green,
and a fine show they made, seated upon the sward beneath
that fair, spreading tree. Then one of them,
with his mouth full, called out to Robin, “Hulloa,
where goest thou, little lad, with thy one-penny bow
and thy farthing shafts?”
