After they had walked a whole morning, they came to the bend in the river beyond which Friar Tuck dwelt. But his cell was across the river and to get to it they would have to wade through.
"Well," said Robin Hood, "had I known I would have to wade the river I would not have put on my best clothes."
Then he left his men, bidding them listen if his bugle should sound, and went on alone. As soon as he was out of sight of them, he thought he heard voices. There seemed to be two men talking on the river bank below, but the voices were wondrously alike. Robin Hood slipped to the edge and looked over.
With his broad back against a willow tree, sat a stout, brawny fellow in the robe of a friar, but no other man was by. He held a great pie in his lap, made of tender, juicy meats, compounded with young onions and other toothsome vegetables, which he munched at sturdily. As he ate he talked, and, listening to him, Robin Hood almost died of laughing. For the merry friar was pretending to be two people. He would offer a piece of the pasty first to his right hand and then to his left, with much politeness, and go through the same actions with a bottle of drink that he had. Robin looked and listened till the pie was all gone and the bottle empty. Then the monk began to urge his imaginary companion to sing.
"Now, sweet lad," he said to himself, "canst thou not tune me a song?" And then he answered himself bashfully.
"La, I know not. I am but in ill voice this day. Prythee, ask me not: dost thou not hear how I croak like a frog?"
Then he spoke again as the first one.
"Nay, nay, thy voice is as sweet as any bullfinch. Come sing, prythee. I would rather hear thee sing than eat a fair feast."