At this Friar Tuck looked all around with a slow gaze.  “Look you now,” quoth he, “never let me hear you say again that I am no patient man.  Here is a knave of a friar calleth me a mad priest, and yet I smite him not.  My name is Friar Tuck, fellow—­the holy Friar Tuck.”

“There, Tuck,” said Robin, “thou hast said enow.  Prythee, cease thy talk and bring some wine.  These reverend men are athirst, and sin’ they have paid so richly for their score they must e’en have the best.”

Friar Tuck bridled at being so checked in his speech, nevertheless he went straightway to do Robin’s bidding; so presently a great crock was brought, and wine was poured out for all the guests and for Robin Hood.  Then Robin held his cup aloft.  “Stay!” cried he.  “Tarry in your drinking till I give you a pledge.  Here is to good King Richard of great renown, and may all enemies to him be confounded.”

Then all drank the King’s health, even the King himself.  “Methinks, good fellow,” said he, “thou hast drunk to thine own confusion.”

“Never a whit,” quoth merry Robin, “for I tell thee that we of Sherwood are more loyal to our lord the King than those of thine order.  We would give up our lives for his benefiting, while ye are content to lie snug in your abbeys and priories let reign who will.”

At this the King laughed.  Quoth he, “Perhaps King Richard’s welfare is more to me than thou wottest of, fellow.  But enough of that matter.  We have paid well for our fare, so canst thou not show us some merry entertainment?  I have oft heard that ye are wondrous archers; wilt thou not show us somewhat of your skill?”

“With all my heart,” said Robin, “we are always pleased to show our guests all the sport that is to be seen.  As Gaffer Swanthold sayeth, ‘Tis a hard heart that will not give a caged starling of the best’; and caged starlings ye are with us.  Ho, lads!  Set up a garland at the end of the glade.”

Then, as the yeomen ran to do their master’s bidding, Tuck turned to one of the mock friars.  “Hearest thou our master?” quoth he, with a sly wink.  “Whenever he cometh across some poor piece of wit he straightway layeth it on the shoulders of this Gaffer Swanthold—­whoever he may be—­ so that the poor goodman goeth traveling about with all the odds and ends and tags and rags of our master’s brain packed on his back.”  Thus spake Friar Tuck, but in a low voice so that Robin could not hear him, for he felt somewhat nettled at Robin’s cutting his talk so short.

In the meantime the mark at which they were to shoot was set up at sixscore paces distance.  It was a garland of leaves and flowers two spans in width, which same was hung upon a stake in front of a broad tree trunk.  “There,” quoth Robin, “yon is a fair mark, lads.  Each of you shoot three arrows thereat; and if any fellow misseth by so much as one arrow, he shall have a buffet of Will Scarlet’s fist.”

“Hearken to him!” quoth Friar Tuck.  “Why, master, thou dost bestow buffets from thy strapping nephew as though they were love taps from some bouncing lass.  I warrant thou art safe to hit the garland thyself, or thou wouldst not be so free of his cuffing.”