But the ivy green cloth grow When the north wind bringeth snow.

Ivy! Ivy!

Stanch and true!

Thus I'd have her love to be: Not to die At the nigh Breath of cold adversity_."

"'Tis well sung," quoth Robin, "but, cousin, I tell thee plain, I would rather hear a stout fellow like thee sing some l.u.s.ty ballad than a finicking song of flowers and birds, and what not. Yet, thou didst sing it fair, and 'tis none so bad a s.n.a.t.c.h of a song, for the matter of that. Now, Tanner, it is thy turn."

"I know not," quoth Arthur, smiling, with his head on one side, like a budding la.s.s that is asked to dance, "I know not that I can match our sweet friend's song; moreover, I do verily think that I have caught a cold and have a certain tickling and huskiness in the windpipe."

"Nay, sing up, friend," quoth Little John, who sat next to him, patting him upon the shoulder. "Thou hast a fair, round, mellow voice; let us have a touch of it."

"Nay, an ye will ha' a poor thing," said Arthur, "I will do my best.

Have ye ever heard of the wooing of Sir Keith, the stout young Cornish knight, in good King Arthur's time?"

"Methinks I have heard somewhat of it," said Robin; "but ne'ertheless strike up thy ditty and let us hear it, for, as I do remember me, it is a gallant song; so out with it, good fellow."

Thereupon, clearing his throat, the Tanner, without more ado, began to sing:

THE WOOING OF SIR KEITH

"_King Arthur sat in his royal hall, And about on either hand Was many a n.o.ble lordling tall, The greatest in the land.

"Sat Lancelot with raven locks, Gawaine with golden hair, Sir Tristram, Kay who kept the locks, And many another there.

"And through the stained windows bright, From o'er the red-tiled eaves, The sunlight blazed with colored light On golden helms and greaves.

"But suddenly a silence came About the Table Round, For up the hall there walked a dame Bent nigh unto the ground.

"Her nose was hooked, her eyes were bleared, Her locks were lank and white; Upon her chin there grew a beard; She was a gruesome sight.

"And so with crawling step she came And kneeled at Arthur's feet; Quoth Kay, 'She is the foulest dame That e'er my sight did greet.'

"'O mighty King! of thee I crave A boon on bended knee'; 'Twas thus she spoke. 'What wouldst thou have.'

Quoth Arthur, King, 'of me_?'

"_Quoth she, 'I have a foul disease Doth gnaw my very heart, And but one thing can bring me ease Or cure my bitter smart.

"'There is no rest, no ease for me North, east, or west, or south, Till Christian knight will willingly Thrice kiss me on the mouth.

"'Nor wedded may this childe have been That giveth ease to me; Nor may he be constrained, I ween, But kiss me willingly.

"'So is there here one Christian knight Of such a n.o.ble strain That he will give a tortured wight Sweet ease of mortal pain?'

"'A wedded man,' quoth Arthur, King, 'A wedded man I be Else would I deem it n.o.ble thing To kiss thee willingly.

"'Now, Lancelot, in all men's sight Thou art the head and chief Of chivalry. Come, n.o.ble knight, And give her quick relief.'

"But Lancelot he turned aside And looked upon the ground, For it did sting his haughty pride To hear them laugh around.

"'Come thou, Sir Tristram,' quoth the King.

Quoth he, 'It cannot be, For ne'er can I my stomach bring To do it willingly.'

"'Wilt thou, Sir Kay, thou scornful wight?'

Quoth Kay, 'Nay, by my troth!

What n.o.ble dame would kiss a knight That kissed so foul a mouth_?'

"'_Wilt thou, Gawaine?' 'I cannot, King.'

'Sir Geraint?' 'Nay, not I; My kisses no relief could bring, For sooner would I die.'

"Then up and spake the youngest man Of all about the board, 'Now such relief as Christian can I'll give to her, my lord.'

"It was Sir Keith, a youthful knight, Yet strong of limb and bold, With beard upon his chin as light As finest threads of gold.

"Quoth Kay, 'He hath no mistress yet That he may call his own, But here is one that's quick to get, As she herself has shown.'

"He kissed her once, he kissed her twice, He kissed her three times o'er, A wondrous change came in a trice, And she was foul no more.

"Her cheeks grew red as any rose, Her brow as white as lawn, Her bosom like the winter snows, Her eyes like those of fawn.

"Her breath grew sweet as summer breeze That blows the meadows o'er; Her voice grew soft as rustling trees, And cracked and harsh no more.

"Her hair grew glittering, like the gold, Her hands as white as milk; Her filthy rags, so foul and old, Were changed to robes of silk.

"In great amaze the knights did stare.

Quoth Kay, 'I make my vow If it will please thee, lady fair, I'll gladly kiss thee now_.'

"_But young Sir Keith kneeled on one knee And kissed her robes so fair.

'O let me be thy slave,' said he, 'For none to thee compare.'

"She bent her down, she kissed his brow, She kissed his lips and eyes.

Quoth she, 'Thou art my master now, My lord, my love, arise!

"'And all the wealth that is mine own, My lands, I give to thee, For never knight hath lady shown Such n.o.ble courtesy.

"'Bewitched was I, in bitter pain, But thou hast set me free, So now I am myself again, I give myself to thee_.'"

"Yea, truly," quoth Robin Hood, when the Tanner had made an end of singing, "it is as I remember it, a fair ditty, and a ballad with a pleasing tune of a song."

"It hath oftentimes seemed to me," said Will Scarlet, "that it hath a certain motive in it, e'en such as this: That a duty which seemeth to us sometimes ugly and harsh, when we do kiss it fairly upon the mouth, so to speak, is no such foul thing after all."

"Methinks thou art right," quoth Robin, "and, contrariwise, that when we kiss a pleasure that appeareth gay it turneth foul to us; is it not so, Little John? Truly such a thing hath brought thee sore thumps this day.

Nay, man, never look down in the mouth. Clear thy pipes and sing us a ditty."

"Nay," said Little John, "I have none as fair as that merry Arthur has trolled. They are all poor things that I know. Moreover, my voice is not in tune today, and I would not spoil even a tolerable song by ill singing."

Upon this all pressed Little John to sing, so that when he had denied them a proper length of time, such as is seemly in one that is asked to sing, he presently yielded. Quoth he, 'Well, an ye will ha' it so, I will give you what I can. Like to fair Will, I have no t.i.tle to my ditty, but thus it runs:

"_O Lady mine, the spring is here, With a hey nonny nonny; The sweet love season of the year, With a ninny ninny nonny; Now lad and la.s.s Lie in the gra.s.s That groweth green With flowers between.