“I think that six broad pennies will buy food enow for a dozen men,” said the Tanner.

“Then give him six pennies, Little John,” quoth Robin, “for methinks food for three men will about fit my need.  Now get thee gone, Arthur, with the money, and bring the food here, for there is a sweet shade in that thicket yonder, beside the road, and there will we eat our meal.”

So Little John gave Arthur the money, and the others stepped to the thicket, there to await the return of the Tanner.

After a time he came back, bearing with him a great brown loaf of bread, and a fair, round cheese, and a goatskin full of stout March beer, slung over his shoulders.  Then Will Scarlet took his sword and divided the loaf and the cheese into four fair portions, and each man helped himself.  Then Robin Hood took a deep pull at the beer.  “Aha!” said he, drawing in his breath, “never have I tasted sweeter drink than this.”

After this no man spake more, but each munched away at his bread and cheese lustily, with ever and anon a pull at the beer.

At last Will Scarlet looked at a small piece of bread he still held in his hand, and quoth he, “Methinks I will give this to the sparrows.”  So, throwing it from him, he brushed the crumbs from his jerkin.

“I, too,” quoth Robin, “have had enough, I think.”  As for Little John and the Tanner, they had by this time eaten every crumb of their bread and cheese.

“Now,” quoth Robin, “I do feel myself another man, and would fain enjoy something pleasant before going farther upon our journey.  I do bethink me, Will, that thou didst use to have a pretty voice, and one that tuned sweetly upon a song.  Prythee, give us one ere we journey farther.”

“Truly, I do not mind turning a tune,” answered Will Scarlet, “but I would not sing alone.”

“Nay, others will follow.  Strike up, lad,” quoth Robin.

“In that case, ’tis well,” said Will Scarlet.  “I do call to mind a song that a certain minstrel used to sing in my father’s hall, upon occasion.  I know no name for it and so can give you none; but thus it is.”  Then, clearing his throat, he sang: 

 “In the merry blossom time,
     When love longings food the breast,
 When the flower is on the lime,
     When the small fowl builds her nest,
 Sweetly sings the nightingale
     And the throstle cock so bold;
 Cuckoo in the dewy dale
 And the turtle in the word. 
 But the robin I love dear,
 For he singeth through the year. 
          Robin!  Robin! 
          Merry Robin! 
 So I’d have my true love be: 
          Not to fly
          At the nigh
 Sign of cold adversity.
 “When the spring brings sweet delights,
     When aloft the lark doth rise,
 Lovers woo o’ mellow nights,
     And youths peep in maidens’ eyes,
 That time blooms the eglantine,
     Daisies pied upon the hill,