"Harry and I in youth long since
Did doughty deeds, but some nonsense;
We read our books, we sang our song,
We stole a deer; nor thought it wrong;
To cut a purse deserves but hanging,
To steal a deer gets merely banging."
"Ha, ha!" said the Host. "Art thou there, bullies? Why, then, confusion to these Bohemian tartars! and we lads of mettle will still feast at their expense. What we must hedge, we must lurch. An we are borne down by the vile in spirit, we must resort to cozenage,—we must filch,—we must steal,—we must coney catch,—we must cozen the dappled deer from the fern."
"Truly thou art in the right, Host," said Froth; "but I most especially marvel what keepeth the jovial Will to-night. He struck the buck, and should be at the carving of the haunch. We lack him—we lack him much. By my fay! the cup lacks flavour, whilst expectation is thus defeated. Oh, 'tis a glorious boy! Come, lads, let us in his absence cheer our spirits with a catch. Give us Will's own song of the horns: an we have not himself, we'll have his verse." And the party sang,—
"1. What shall we have that kill the deer?
2. His leathern skin and horns to wear.
3. Then sing him home.
Take thou no scorn to wear the horn,
It was a crest ere thou wast born."
The chorus was trolled out again and again, the singers applauding their own exertions vigorously, by repeated raps upon the table. Mine Host sat with his hands clasped before him, his head keeping time with drunken precision:
"The horn, the horn, the lusty horn,
Is not a thing to laugh to scorn."
When just at this moment the whole company were startled by an apparition nearly as appalling in appearance as the spectre they had themselves scared the keepers of Sir Thomas Lucy with in Charlecote, and which indeed was neither more nor less than Sir Thomas Lucy himself.
The knight advanced a few paces into the room, accompanied by several of his men, and stood to regard the party. Mine host was the first to catch sight of him, and the lusty chorus he was trolling out died away in a faint quaver, and as the rest of the company, following the direction of his staring eyes, turned and beheld the tall knight, conscience made cowards of them all, and, with a desperate rush, they endeavoured to get out of the room. Two dashed into the sleeping-chamber of Froth, whence they escaped into the orchard, whilst mine host, Caliver, and Careless, bolted through the open window.
Following the example of these latter fugitives, Froth made also an attempt to escape by the window, but his huge body became fixed like a wedge, as he endeavoured to throw himself forwards upon the grass without, and his nether man presented so fair a mark that the irate knight pointing him out to his head keeper, the sturdy forester stepped up, and by a most industrious application of his hunting-whip, so stimulated the exertions of Froth, that, bellowing with pain, he at last managed to get through the opening.
If the stately knight had been given to mirth, the sight of this swollen porpoise, during his efforts to escape,—his huge legs kicking at his tormentor,—his great body fast jammed,—would have furnished him with laughter for some minutes.