O'er holt and hill, through brake and brere,
He took his way alone—
Now, Lordlings, list and you shall hear
This geste of Little John.
FYTTE THE SECOND-
'Tis merry, 'tis merry in gay greenwood,
When the little birds are singing,
When the buck is belling in the fern,
And the hare from the thicket springing!
'Tis merry to hear the waters clear,
As they splash in the pebbly fall;
And the ouzel whistling to his mate,
As he lights on the stones so small.
But small pleasaunce took Little John
In all he heard and saw;
Till he reached the cave of a hermit old
Who wonned within the shaw.
"Ora pro nobis!" quoth Little John—
His Latin was somewhat rude—
"Now, holy father, hast thou seen
A frere within the wood?
"By his scarlet hose, and his ruddy nose,
I guess you may know him well;
And he wears on his head a hat so red,
And a monstrous scallop-shell."
"I have served Saint Pancras," the hermit said,
"In this cell for thirty year,
Yet never saw I, in the forest bounds,
The face of such a frere!
"An' if ye find him, master mine,
E'en take an old man's advice,
An' raddle him well, till he roar again,
Lest ye fail to meet him twice!"