"Tushe, Sir John," quoth his wife, "why should you frett or frowne?
You shall ne'er be att no charges for mee; 50
For I will turne and trim up my old russet gowne,
With everye thing else as fine as may bee;
And on our mill-horses swift we will ride,
With pillowes and pannells, as we shall provide."
In this most statelye sort, rode they unto the court; 55
Their jolly sonne Richard rode foremost of all,
Who set up, [for good hap], a cocks feather in his cap,
And so they jetted downe to the kings hall;
The merry old miller with hands on his side;
[His wife like maid Marian did mince at that tide]. 60
The king and his nobles, that heard of their coming,
Meeting this gallant knight with his brave traine,
"Welcome, sir knight," quoth he, "with your gay lady;
Good Sir John Cockle, once welcome againe;
And so is the squire of courage soe free." 65
Quoth Dicke, "A bots on you! do you know mee?"
Quoth our king gentlye, "How should I forget thee?
That wast my owne bed-fellowe, well it I wot."
"Yea, sir," quoth Richard, "and by the same token,
Thou with thy farting didst make the bed hot." 70
"Thou whore-son unhappy knave," then quoth the knight,
"Speake cleanly to our king, or else go sh***."
The king and his courtiers laugh at this heartily,
While the king taketh them both by the hand;
With the court-dames and maids, like to the queen of spades, 75
The millers wife did soe orderly stand,
A milk-maids courtesye at every word;
And downe all the folkes were set to the board.
There the king royally, in princelye majestye,
Sate at his dinner with joy and delight; 80
When they had eaten well, then he to jesting fell,
And in a bowle of wine dranke to the knight:
"Here's to you both, in wine, ale, and beer;
Thanking you heartilye for my good cheer."
Quoth Sir John Cockle, "I'll pledge you a pottle, 85
Were it the best ale in Nottinghamshire:"
But then said our king, "Now I think of a thing;
Some of your lightfoote I would we had here."
"Ho! ho!" quoth Richard, "full well I may say it
'Tis knavery to eate it, and then to betray it." 90
"Why art thou angry?" quoth our king merrilye;
"In faith, I take it now very unkind:
I thought thou wouldst pledge me in ale and wine heartily."
Quoth Dicke, "You are like to stay till I have din'd:
You feed us with twatling dishes soe small; 95
Zounds, a blacke-pudding is better than all."
"Aye, marry," quoth our king, "that were a daintye thing,
Could a man get but one here for to eate:"
With that Dicke straite arose, and pluckt one from his hose,
Which with heat of his breech gan to sweate.
The king made a proffer to snatch it away:— 100
"'Tis meat for your master: good sir, you must stay."
Thus in great merriment was the time wholly spent,
And then the ladyes prepared to dance:
Old Sir John Cockle, and Richard, incontinent 105
Unto their places the king did advance.
Here with the ladyes such sport they did make,
The nobles with laughing did make their sides ake.