It befell on Whitsuntide,
Early in a May morning,
The sun up fair can shine,
And the birdés merry can sing.
(shaws, wood. sheen, bright.)
"This is a merry morning," said Little John,
"By Him that died on tree;
A more merry man then I am one
Lives not in Christianté."
"Pluck up thy heart, my dear master,"