“Where lieth he now?”
“Where but in the watch-house beside the gallows 'neath Black Lewin's charge. But come, good Motley, sing—a pretty song, a merry ditty, ha!”
So forthwith Jocelyn took his lute and sang:
“With dainty ditty
Quaint and pretty
I will fit ye,
So heed and mark me well,
And who we be
That here ye see
Now unto ye
Explicit I will tell:
“Then here first behold one Gurth, a worthy, dying
Dyer,
Since he by dyeing liveth, so to dye is his desire:
For being thus a very Dyer, he liveth but to dye,
And dyeing daily he doth all his daily wants
supply.
Full often hath he dyed ere now to earn his
daily bread,
Thus, dyeing not, this worthy Dyer must soon,
alas! be dead.
“Here's Rick—a saintly ploughman, he
Hath guided plough so well,
That here, with rogues the like of me,
He pines in dungeon cell.
“Here's Red-haired Will—O fie!
That Will should fettered lie
In such base, cruel manner!
For though his hair be red,
Brave Will, when all is said,
Is—hark 'ee—Will's a tanner!”
“Enough, Fool!” cried Will. “An thou must sing, sing of thyself, for thyself, to thyself, and I will sing of myself an' need be!”
Laughed JOCELYN:
Why then, brave Will,
Come, sing thy fill.
Whereupon Will cleared his throat, squared his shoulders, and rumbling a note or so to fix the key, burst into songful roar:
“A tanner I, a lusty man,
A tanner men call Will,
And being tanner true, I tan,
Would I were tanning still;
Ho derry, derry down,
Hey derry down,
Would I were tanning still.”
“Aye, verily!” growled Sir Pertinax. “And choked in thy vile tan-pit, for scurvier song was never heard, par Dex!”