“Halloa, my sweet bird,” said he, laughing merrily, “how likest thou thine ale?  Wilt not sing to me another song?”

The Tinker said nothing at first but stood looking at Robin with a grim face.  “Now,” quoth he at last, “I am right glad I have met thee, and if I do not rattle thy bones within thy hide this day, I give thee leave to put thy foot upon my neck.”

“With all my heart,” cried merry Robin.  “Rattle my bones, an thou canst.”  So saying, he gripped his staff and threw himself upon his guard.  Then the Tinker spat upon his hands and, grasping his staff, came straight at the other.  He struck two or three blows, but soon found that he had met his match, for Robin warded and parried all of them, and, before the Tinker thought, he gave him a rap upon the ribs in return.  At this Robin laughed aloud, and the Tinker grew more angry than ever, and smote again with all his might and main.  Again Robin warded two of the strokes, but at the third, his staff broke beneath the mighty blows of the Tinker.  “Now, ill betide thee, traitor staff,” cried Robin, as it fell from his hands; “a foul stick art thou to serve me thus in mine hour of need.”

“Now yield thee,” quoth the Tinker, “for thou art my captive; and if thou do not, I will beat thy pate to a pudding.”

To this Robin Hood made no answer, but, clapping his horn to his lips, he blew three blasts, loud and clear.

“Ay,” quoth the Tinker, “blow thou mayest, but go thou must with me to Nottingham Town, for the Sheriff would fain see thee there.  Now wilt thou yield thee, or shall I have to break thy pretty head?”

“An I must drink sour ale, I must,” quoth Robin, “but never have I yielded me to man before, and that without wound or mark upon my body.  Nor, when I bethink me, will I yield now.  Ho, my merry men!  Come quickly!”

Then from out the forest leaped Little John and six stout yeomen clad in Lincoln green.

“How now, good master,” cried Little John, “what need hast thou that thou dost wind thy horn so loudly?”

“There stands a tinker,” quoth Robin, “that would fain take me to Nottingham, there to hang upon the gallows tree.”

“Then shall he himself hang forthwith,” cried Little John, and he and the others made at the Tinker, to seize him.

“Nay, touch him not,” said Robin, “for a right stout man is he.  A metal man he is by trade, and a mettled man by nature; moreover, he doth sing a lovely ballad.  Say, good fellow, wilt thou join my merry men all?  Three suits of Lincoln green shalt thou have a year, besides forty marks in fee; thou shalt share all with us and lead a right merry life in the greenwood; for cares have we not, and misfortune cometh not upon us within the sweet shades of Sherwood, where we shoot the dun deer and feed upon venison and sweet oaten cakes, and curds and honey.  Wilt thou come with me?”

“Ay, marry, will I join with you all,” quoth the Tinker, “for I love a merry life, and I love thee, good master, though thou didst thwack my ribs and cheat me into the bargain.  Fain am I to own thou art both a stouter and a slyer man than I; so I will obey thee and be thine own true servant.”