“Sweet friend and lady,” answered Jocelyn, “surely man so unlovely as I may not know this wonder for his very own until it first seek him. Is 't not so? Let now thy woman's heart counsel me.”
“How, Sir Wise Folly, have I not heard thee preach boldness in love ere now?”
“Aye—for others!” sighed Jocelyn. “But for myself—I fear—behold this motley! This scarred face!”
“Why as to thy motley it becometh thee well—”
“Aye, but my face? O, 't is a hideous face!”
“O Fool!” sighed Benedicta, “know'st thou not that True-love's eyes possess a magic whereby all loved things become fair and beauteous. So take courage, noble Motley, and may thy desires be crowned—even as our own.”
“Gramercy, thou sweet and gentle lady. Happiness companion thee alway and Love sing ever within thee. Now for ye twain is love's springtime, a season of sweet promise, may each promise find fulfilment and so farewell.”
“Why then, Sir Fool, an thou wilt tarry here in the good greenwood a while, may Love guide thee. Now here is my counsel: Follow where thy heart commandeth and—fear not! And now, Sir Robert a' Forest, form thy company, and since this is a day of gladness let them sing as they march.”
“In sooth, dear my lady, that will we!” cried Robin. “There is song o' spring and gladness I made that hath oft been our solace, and moreover it beginneth and endeth with jolly chorus well beknown to all. Ho, pikes to van and rear! Bows to the flanks—fall in! Now trusty friends o' the greenwood, free-men all, henceforth—now march we back to hearth and home and love, so sing ye—sing!”
Hereupon from the ragged, close-ordered ranks burst a shout that swelled to rolling chorus; and these the words: