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in a merry voice:
"_I sit upon the stile,
And I sing a little while
As I wait for my own true dear, O,
For the sun is shining bright,
And the leaves are dancing light,
And the little fowl sings she is near, O_.
"And so it is with me, bully boy, saving that my doxy cometh not."
"Now that is a right sweet song," quoth Robin, "and, were I in
the right mind to listen to thee, I could bear well to hear more;
but I have two things of seriousness to ask of thee;
so listen, I prythee."
At this the jolly Beggar cocked his head on one side, like a rogue
of a magpie. Quoth he, "I am an ill jug to pour heavy things into,
good friend, and, if I mistake not, thou hast few serious words
to spare at any time."
"Nay," quoth jolly Robin, "what I would say first is the most serious
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of all thoughts to me, to wit, `Where shall I get somewhat to eat
and drink?' "
"Sayst thou so?" quoth the Beggar. "Marry, I make no such serious
thoughts upon the matter. I eat when I can get it, and munch
my crust when I can get no crumb; likewise, when there is no ale
to be had I wash the dust from out my throat with a trickle
of cold water. I was sitting here, as thou camest upon me,
bethinking myself whether I should break my fast or no.
I do love to let my hunger grow mightily keen ere I eat,
for then a dry crust is as good to me as a venison pasty
with suet and raisins is to stout King Harry. I have a sharp
hunger upon me now, but methinks in a short while it will ripen
to a right mellow appetite."
"Now, in good sooth," quoth merry Robin, laughing, "thou hast a quaint tongue
betwixt thy teeth. But hast thou truly nought but a dry crust about thee?
Methinks thy bags and pouches are fat and lusty for such thin fare."
"Why, mayhap there is some other cold fare therein," said the Beggar slyly.
"And hast thou nought to drink but cold water?" said Robin.
"Never so much as a drop," quoth the Beggar. "Over beyond yon clump
of trees is as sweet a little inn as ever thou hast lifted eyelid upon;
but I go not thither, for they have a nasty way with me.
Once, when the good Prior of Emmet was dining there, the landlady set
a dear little tart of stewed crabs and barley sugar upon the window
sill to cool, and, seeing it there, and fearing it might be lost,
I took it with me till that I could find the owner thereof.
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Ever since then they have acted very ill toward me; yet truth
bids me say that they have the best ale there that ever rolled
over my tongue."
At this Robin laughed aloud. "Marry," quoth he, "they did ill toward thee
for thy kindness. But tell me truly, what hast thou in thy pouches?"
"Why," quoth the Beggar, peeping into the mouths of his bags, "I find here
a goodly piece of pigeon pie, wrapped in a cabbage leaf to hold the gravy.
Here I behold a dainty streaked piece of brawn, and here a fair lump
of white bread. Here I find four oaten cakes and a cold knuckle
of ham. Ha! In sooth, 'tis strange; but here I behold six eggs
that must have come by accident from some poultry yard hereabouts.
They are raw, but roasted upon the coals and spread with a piece
of butter that I see--"
"Peace, good friend!" cried Robin, holding up his hand. "Thou makest
my poor stomach quake with joy for what thou tellest me so sweetly.
If thou wilt give me to eat, I will straightway hie me to that little
inn thou didst tell of but now, and will bring a skin of ale for thy
drinking and mine."
"Friend, thou hast said enough," said the Beggar, getting down from
the stile. "I will feast thee with the best that I have and bless
Saint Cedric for thy company. But, sweet chuck, I prythee bring
three quarts of ale at least, one for thy drinking and two for mine,
for my thirst is such that methinks I can drink ale as the sands
of the River Dee drink salt water."
So Robin straightway left the Beggar, who, upon his part,
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went to a budding lime bush back of the hedge, and there spread
his feast upon the grass and roasted his eggs upon a little
fagot fire, with a deftness gained by long labor in that line.
After a while back came Robin bearing a goodly skin of ale upon
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