As I walked by a forest side
I met with a forester; he bade me abide
At a place where he me set--
He bade me what time an hart I met
That I should let slip and say go belt;
With Hay go bett, Hay go belt, Hay go bett,
Now we shall have game and sport enow.
I had not stand there but a while,
Yea, not the maintenance of a mile,
But a great hart came running without any guile;
With there he goeth--there he goeth--there he goeth;
Now we shall have game and sport enow.
I had no sooner my hounds let go
But the hart was overthrow;
Then every man began to blow,
With trororo--trororo--trororo,
Now we shall have game and sport enow.
In honour of good ale we have many English
ballads. Good wine, too, was not without a poet to sing
its praises, the Scripture allusions and the large infusion
of Latin pointing perhaps to the refectory of some genial
monastery.