"Nay, grandsire," said Anne Hathaway, "but this Robin doth no harm now, except it to be to knaves and queans, as he is Oberon's own son, so his royal father hath enjoined him not to harm the good and thrifty."
"Of a verity," said the elder Hathaway, "such is the case in some sort. Nevertheless, Anne, in my time, sad pranks have been played in the night season by Robin."
"Aye, and as many good turns done too by him in mine," said old dame Hathaway. "What, hath not the elf oft-times ground the malt, swept clean the house, and washed all the children's faces in the night?"
"Aye," said the other, "and pinched the maids black and blue for laziness; and even carried them out fast asleep into the green meadows in the night, and led poor wayfarers out of the way to perish in some deep wash."[5]
"Well, well," said Master Hathaway, "cleanliness and thrift, and a good hunk of bread in one's pouch, will do much; not only to keep off the elf, but to keep one from hungering in the quagmire, for what saith the rhyme."[6]
"Thy fairy elves who thee mislead with stories
Into the mire, then at thy folly smile,
Yea, clap their hands for joy. Were I used so;
I should shake hands with them, and turn their foe.
Old country folks, who pixie leading fear,
Bear bread about them to prevent that harm!"
"Come, tell us, grandsire," said Anne, "how you met the fairies coming one night from Monkspath."
"Gad-a-mercy, lass, I had almost forgotten all about it," said the old host, who indeed had most likely dreamt the adventure one night in his cups, and then related it till he himself believed it was a fact. "Why, you see, when I was a yonker, there were terrible deeds done in England. We didn't live then so peaceable-like, as we do now, under our blessed Queen Elizabeth. A man's life in those days warn't thought o' so much value as in ourn; by the same token, stabbing, smashing, hanging, and heading, and all sorts of wild work, were the order of the day,—more the pity. We hadn't then either such goodly dwellings, at least so many on 'em. Men were men then, and hadn't such luxuries as now. Ugh-ugh, Gad-a-mercy! I have seen the time when we used to sleep o' nights in the open fields as comfortably as under a roof. Nay, we hadn't such beds either then. A shake-down of the fern, or a clean bed of straw, with a log of wood for the head, was enow for most folks. I struck a good strike for Harry at Bosworth Field what time old Shakespeare——"
"Well, well," interrupted John Hathaway, "Bosworth bye and bye. The fairy story now, father."
"Nay, I war only going to say that yonder lad's grandfather (old Shakespeare of Stratford) could have borne me out, had he been alive, since he war at the battle of Bosworth too. Both he and I were together, jammed in amongst the spearmen, when King Richard pressed up on his white horse, and nearly struck young Richmond down. Mass, he were a fierce devil that day, and raged like a fiend. Richmond, I remember, bore back, as well as he might, an Richard had not been beaten off by the good knights around, the hot king had fairly brained him. Two I saw him fell with my own eyes ere he was forced away. Ah, he were a goodly sight to look on that day; and if deeds of daring and good soldiership could ha gotten the day, Richard had had it. He wore his crown upon his helmet, I remember, and (albins men liked him not) by my fay, he looked a king. No man that lived and beheld him but saw that."