“This marriage will not stand,” said the bishop, “for they have not been thrice asked in church.”
“We will ask them seven times,” said Little John, “lest three should not suffice.”
“And in the meantime,” said Robin, “the knight and the bishop shall dance to my harping.”
So Robin sat in the church porch and played away merrily, while his foresters formed a ring, in the centre of which the knight and bishop danced with exemplary alacrity; and if they relaxed their exertions, Scarlet gently touched them up with the point of an arrow.
The knight grimaced ruefully, and begged Robin to think of his gout.
“So I do,” said Robin; “this is the true antipodagron: you shall dance the gout away, and be thankful to me while you live. I told you,” he added to the bishop, “I would play at this wedding; but you did not tell me that you would dance at it. The next couple you marry, think of the Roman law.”
The bishop was too much out of breath to reply; and now the young couple issued from church, and the bride having made a farewell obeisance to her parents, they departed together with the foresters, the parents storming, the attendants laughing, the bishop puffing and blowing, and the knight rubbing his gouty foot, and uttering doleful lamentations for the gold and jewels with which he had so unwittingly adorned and cowered the bride.
CHAPTER XIV
As ye came from the holy land
Of blessed Walsinghame,
Oh met ye not with my true love,
As by the way ye came?
—Old Ballad.