There the Sheriff had already come in state, and with him many butchers.  When Robin and those that were with him came in, all laughing at some merry jest he had been telling them, those that were near the Sheriff whispered to him, “Yon is a right mad blade, for he hath sold more meat for one penny this day than we could sell for three, and to whatsoever merry lass gave him a kiss he gave meat for nought.”  And others said, “He is some prodigal that hath sold his land for silver and gold, and meaneth to spend all right merrily.”

Then the Sheriff called Robin to him, not knowing him in his butcher’s dress, and made him sit close to him on his right hand; for he loved a rich young prodigal—­especially when he thought that he might lighten that prodigal’s pockets into his own most worshipful purse.  So he made much of Robin, and laughed and talked with him more than with any of the others.

At last the dinner was ready to be served and the Sheriff bade Robin say grace, so Robin stood up and said, “Now Heaven bless us all and eke good meat and good sack within this house, and may all butchers be and remain as honest men as I am.”

At this all laughed, the Sheriff loudest of all, for he said to himself, “Surely this is indeed some prodigal, and perchance I may empty his purse of some of the money that the fool throweth about so freely.”  Then he spake aloud to Robin, saying, “Thou art a jolly young blade, and I love thee mightily”; and he smote Robin upon the shoulder.

Then Robin laughed loudly too.  “Yea,” quoth he, “I know thou dost love a jolly blade, for didst thou not have jolly Robin Hood at thy shooting match and didst thou not gladly give him a bright golden arrow for his own?”

At this the Sheriff looked grave and all the guild of butchers too, so that none laughed but Robin, only some winked slyly at each other.

“Come, fill us some sack!” cried Robin.  “Let us e’er be merry while we may, for man is but dust, and he hath but a span to live here till the worm getteth him, as our good gossip Swanthold sayeth; so let life be merry while it lasts, say I. Nay, never look down i’ the mouth, Sir Sheriff.  Who knowest but that thou mayest catch Robin Hood yet, if thou drinkest less good sack and Malmsey, and bringest down the fat about thy paunch and the dust from out thy brain.  Be merry, man.”

Then the Sheriff laughed again, but not as though he liked the jest, while the butchers said, one to another, “Before Heaven, never have we seen such a mad rollicking blade.  Mayhap, though, he will make the Sheriff mad.”

“How now, brothers,” cried Robin, “be merry! nay, never count over your farthings, for by this and by that I will pay this shot myself, e’en though it cost two hundred pounds.  So let no man draw up his lip, nor thrust his forefinger into his purse, for I swear that neither butcher nor Sheriff shall pay one penny for this feast.”

“Now thou art a right merry soul,” quoth the Sheriff, “and I wot thou must have many a head of horned beasts and many an acre of land, that thou dost spend thy money so freely.”