FYTTE 9
That tells almost as fully as it should,
The joys of living in the good greenwood.
Deep-hidden in the trackless wild the outlaws had made them a haven of refuge, a camp remote and well sequestered. Here were mossy, fern-clad rocks that soared aloft, and here green lawns where ran a blithesome brook; it was indeed a very pleasant place shut in by mighty trees. Within this leafy boskage stood huts of wattle, cunningly wrought; beneath the steep were many caves carpeted with dried fern and fragrant mosses, while everywhere, above and around, the trees spread mighty boughs, through which the sun darted golden beams be-dappling the sward, and in whose leafy mysteries the birds made joyous carolling.
And here beneath bending willows arched over this merry brook, one sun-bright morning riotous with song of birds, sat Jocelyn with Robin a-sprawl beside him.
“O brother,” says Robin, “O brother, 't is a fair place the greenwood, a fair, sweet place to live—aye, or to die in methinks, this good greenwood, whereof I have made a song—hark 'ee!”
“Oho, it is a right good thing
When trees do bud and flowers do spring
All in the wood, the fair, green wood,
To hear the birds so blithely sing,
Adown, adown, hey derry down,
All in the good, green wood.
“Who cometh here leaves grief behind,
Here broken man hath welcome kind,
All in the wood, the fair, green wood.
The hopeless here new hope may find,
Adown, adown, hey derry down,
All in the kind, green wood.
“Ho, friend, 'tis pleasant life we lead,
No laws have we, no laws we need
Here i' the good, green wood.
For every man's a man indeed,
Adown, adown, hey derry down,
Here i' the good, green wood.
“All travellers that come this way
Must something in fair tribute pay
Unto the wood, the fair, green wood.
Or here in bonds is like to stay,
Adown, adown, hey derry down,
Lost in the good, green wood.
“Full many a lord, in boastful pride,
This tribute, scornful, hath denied
Unto the wood, the fair, green wood.
And thereupon hath sudden died,
Adown, adown, hey derry down,
All in the fair, green wood.
“And when our time shall come to die
Methinks we here may softly lie
Deep in the fair, green wood.
With birds to sing us lullaby,
Adown, adown, hey derry down,
All in the good, green wood.”
“So there it is, brother—and life and death in a nutshell, as 'twere. Now, wherefore wilt not join us and turn outlaw, good Fool?”