That tells almost as fully as it should,
The joys of living in the good greenwood.
* * * * *
Deep-hidden in the trackless wild the outlaws had made them a haven of
refuge, a camp remote and well sequestered. Here were mossy, fern-clad
rocks that soared aloft, and here green lawns where ran a blithesome brook;
it was indeed a very pleasant place shut in by mighty trees. Within this
leafy boskage stood huts of wattle, cunningly wrought; beneath the steep
were many caves carpeted with dried fern and fragrant mosses, while
everywhere, above and around, the trees spread mighty boughs, through which
the sun darted golden beams be-dappling the sward, and in whose leafy
mysteries the birds made joyous carolling.
And here beneath bending willows arched over this merry brook, one
sun-bright morning riotous with song of birds, sat Jocelyn with Robin
a-sprawl beside him.
“O brother,” says Robin, “O brother, 't is a fair place the greenwood, a
fair, sweet place to live--aye, or to die in methinks, this good greenwood,
whereof I have made a song--hark 'ee!”
“Oho, it is a right good thing
When trees do bud and flowers do spring
All in the wood, the fair, green wood,
To hear the birds so blithely sing,
Adown, adown, hey derry down,
All in the good, green wood.
“Who cometh here leaves grief behind,
Here broken man hath welcome kind,
All in the wood, the fair, green wood.
The hopeless here new hope may find,
Adown, adown, hey derry down,
All in the kind, green wood.
“Ho, friend, 'tis pleasant life we lead,
No laws have we, no laws we need
Here i' the good, green wood.
For every man's a man indeed,
Adown, adown, hey derry down,
Here i' the good, green wood.
“All travellers that come this way
Must something in fair tribute pay
Unto the wood, the fair, green wood.
Or here in bonds is like to stay,
Adown, adown, hey derry down,
Lost in the good, green wood.
“Full many a lord, in boastful pride,
This tribute, scornful, hath denied
Unto the wood, the fair, green wood.
And thereupon hath sudden died,
Adown, adown, hey derry down,
All in the fair, green wood.
“And when our time shall come to die
Methinks we here may softly lie
Deep in the fair, green wood.
With birds to sing us lullaby,
Adown, adown, hey derry down,
All in the good, green wood.”
“So there it is, brother--and life and death in a nutshell, as 'twere. Now,
wherefore wilt not join us and turn outlaw, good Fool?”
“For that I am a fool belike, Robin. Howbeit, I'm better Fool than outlaw.”
“Say, rather, greater fool, Fool, for foresters' life is better than life
o' folly, and payeth better to boot, what with booty--ha! Moreover, I do
love thee, since, Fool, though fool, art wise in counsel and valiant beyond
thought--so 'tis I would not lose thee. Stay, therefore, and live my
comrade and brother, equal with me in all things. How say'st thou?”
“Why, Robin, I say this: True friendship is a goodly thing and a rare in
this world, and, therefore, to be treasured; 'tis thing no man may buy or
seek, since itself is seeker and cometh of itself; 'tis a prop--a staff
in stony ways, a shield 'gainst foes, a light i' the dark. So do I love
friendship, Robin, and thou'rt my friend, yet must leave thee, though
friendship shall abide.”
Quoth ROBIN: How abide an we be parted?
“In heart and mind and memory, Robin. Moreover, though I go, yet will I
return anon, an life be mine.”
“And wherefore go ye, brother?”
“First to seek my comrade.”
“Thy comrade--ha! I mind him, a fierce great fellow with hawk's beak and a
fighting eye. And whither trend ye?”
“To Canalise.”
“Art crazed, brother? 'Tis there death waiteth thee!”
“Yet must I go, Robin, since there my heart waiteth me.”
“A maid, brother?”
“A maid, Robin.”
“Heigho! So wilt thou go, come joy, come pain, come life or death, since a
maid is made to make man saint or devil, some days glad and some days sad,
but ever and always a fool. And thou art Fool by profession, and, being
lover professed and confessed, art doubly a fool; and since, good Folly,
love's but folly and thou, a Fool, art deep in folly, so is thy state most
melancholy.”
“And dost think love so great folly, Robin?” said a soft voice, and,
looking round, they beheld the lovely, dark-tressed Melissa, who viewed
them bright-eyed and pouted red mouth, frowning a little.
“Aye, verily, lady,” laughed Robin, as she sank on the grass beside them.
“Forsooth, 'tis a madness fond. For see, now, a man being in love is out of
all else.”
“As how, Sir Outlaw?”
“Marry, on this wise--when man's in love he mopeth apart and is ill
company, so is he out o' friends; he hangeth humble head abashed, so is he
out o' countenance; he uttereth frequent, windy, sighful suspirations,
so is he out o' breath; he lavisheth lucre on his love, so is he out o'
pocket; he forsweareth food, despiseth drink, scorneth sleep, so is he
out o' health--in fine, he is out of all things, so is he out of himself;
therefore he is mad, and so may go hang himself!”
MELISSA: And hast thou loved, Robin?
ROBIN: Ever and always, and none but Robin!
MELISSA: And none more worthy, Robin?
ROBIN: And none more, as I am worthy Robin.
MELISSA: Lovest thou not Love, Robin?
ROBIN: Love, love not I.
MELISSA: Then Love canst thou know not.
ROBIN: Then if I love Love for Love's sake, must Love then love me,
therefore?
MELISSA: If thy love for Love be true love, so shall Love love thee true.
ROBIN: Then if Love should love me for my sake, then would I love Love for
Love's sake; but since Love ne'er hath sought me for my sake, ne'er will I
seek Love for Love's sake for my sake, since Love, though plaguy sweet, is
a sweet plague, I judge and, so judging, will by my judgment stand.
MELISBA: And how think you, Sir Fool?
JOCELYN: I think if Love find Robin and Robin, so found of Love, shall
learn to love Love for Love's sake, Love shall teach Robin how, hi loving
Love--Love, if a plague, doth but plague him lovingly to his better
judgment of Love, till, being on this wise, wise--he shall judge of Love
lovingly, loving Love at last for Love's own lovely sake, rather than for
his own selfish self. For as there is the passion of love, the which is a
love selfish, so there is the true Spirit of Love, the which forgetteth
self in Love's self, thus, self-forgotten, Love is crowned by Love's true
self.
MELISSA: How think ye of this, Robin?
ROBIN: By Cupid, we are so deep in love that we are like to drown of love
and we be not wary. Here hath my lovely jowlopped-crested brother so beset
poor Robin with Love and self and Robin, that Robin kens not which is Love,
Love's self or himself.
MELISSA: And yet I do think 'tis very plain! Yet an thou canst express this
plainer, prithee do, Sir Fool.
“Blithely, sweet lady, here will I frame my meaning in a rhyme, thus:
“Who loveth Love himself above,
With Love base self transcending
Love, Love shall teach how Love may reach
The Love that hath no ending.
“'Tis thus Love-true, Love shall renew,
Love's love thus waning never,
So love each morn of Love new-born,
Love shall live loving ever.”
ROBIN: Aye, verily, there's Love and yet such a love as no man may find
methinks, brother.
JOCELYN: Never, Robin, until it find him. For true love, like friendship,
cometh unsought, like all other good things.
ROBIN: 'Las! then needs must I be no good thing since I am sought e'en now
of old Mopsa the Witch yonder!
And he pointed where the old creature hobbled towards them bent on her
crooked staff. Up rose Robin and, hasting to meet her, louted full low,
since she was held in great respect of all men by reason of her potent
spells. Chuckling evilly, she drew down Robin's tall head to whisper in his
ear, whereupon he laughed, clapped hand to brawny thigh, and taking old
Mopsa's feeble arm, hastened away with her. But Melissa, reclining 'neath
the willow-shade, gazed down into the murmurous waters of the brook with
eyes of dream whiles Jocelyn struck soft, sweet chords upon his lute. And
presently she turned to view him thoughtfully--his strange, marred face;
his eyes so quick and keen 'neath battered cock's-comb; his high, proud
bearing despite his frayed and motley habit; and ever her wonder grew
until, at last, she must needs question him:
“Fools, Sir Fool, have I seen a-many, both in the motley and out, but thou
art rare among all fools, I do think.”
JOCELYN: Gramercy, lady! Truly fool am I of all fools singular.
MELISSA: Thou'rt he I heard, upon a day, sing strange, sweet songs, within
the marketplace of Canalise!
JOCELYN: The same, lady.
MELISSA: That soused my lord Gui head over ears in a lily-pool?
JOCELYN: Verily, lady.
MELISSA: O! Would one might do as much for Sir Agramore of Biename!
JOCELYN: One doubtless will, lady.
MELISSA: Thyself?
JOCELYN: Nay--one that loveth the disputatious bickering of sharp steel
better than I--one had rather fight than eat, and rather fight three men
than one--
“Three men?” cried Melissa, starting.
“Aye, lady--and six men than three!”
“There was such an one, Fool, in truth a very brave man, did fight three of
my Lord Agramore's foresters on my behalf. Dost know of such an one, Fool?”
“Methinks he is my comrade, Lady.”
“Thy comrade--in truth? Then, pray you, speak me what seeming hath he.”
“Ill, lady.”
“How so, Fool?”
“A great, fierce rogue is he, unlovely of look, bleak of eye, harsh of
tongue, hooked of nose, flinty of soul, stony of heart, of aspect grim and
manners rude!”
“Then, verily, thy comrade have I never seen!” quoth Melissa, flushing and
with head up-flung. “He that saved me is nothing the like of this.”
“And yet,” said Jocelyn slyly, “'tis thus he hath been named ere now!”
“Nay, Fool, indeed he that saved me was tall and seemly man, very fierce
and strong in fight, but to me wondrous gentle--in truth, something
timorous, and, 'spite rusty mail, spake and looked like a noble knight.”
“Then forsooth, lady, thy champion is no comrade of mine, for he is but a
poor rogue, ill-beseen, ill-kempt, ill-spoken, ill-mannered and altogether
ill, save only that he is my friend--”
“And thou speakest ill of thy ill friend, the which is ill in thee--ill
Fool!” and the fair Melissa rose.
“And pray, lady, didst learn thy preserver's name?”
“Indeed, for I asked him.”
“And it was--?”
“Pertinax!” she sighed.
“Pertinax!” said Jocelyn, both in the same moment; the dark-browed Melissa
sat down again.
“So thy comrade and--he are one, Fool?”
“Indeed, lady. Yet here we have him, on the one hand, a man noble and
seemly, and, on the other, a poor rogue, hook-nosed, ill-beseen, ill--”
“'Tis thou hast miscalled him, Fool!” said she, frowning.
“Not I, lady.”
“Who, then?”
“A maid--”
“Ah!” said Melissa, frowning blacker than ever. “A maid, Fool? What maid?”
“A wandering gipsy o' the wood, lady--a dark-eyed damsel with long, black
curling hair and 'voice of sweet allure'--'tis so he named her--”
“This was belike some wicked witch!” said Melissa, clenching white fist.
“Aye, belike it was, lady, for she bestowed on him a strange jewel, a heart
in heart of crystal, that wrought for us in Canalise marvels great as our
wondrous Witch herself.”
Now here the lovely Melissa's frown vanished, and her red lips curved to
sudden smile.
“Belike this was no witch after all!” said she gently.
“Howbeit, lady,” quoth Jocelyn slyly, “my poor comrade is surely bewitched
by her none the less. She hath wrought on him spell so potent that he
groweth mopish and talketh of her eyes, her hair, her sweet and gentle
voice, her little foot, forsooth.”
“And doth he so, indeed?” said Melissa softly, and, twiddling one of
her own pretty feet, she smiled at it. “Doth he sigh o'er much?” she
questioned.
“Consumedly! By the minute!”
“Poor soldier!” she murmured.
“Aye, poor rogue!” said Jocelyn; whereupon she frowned again, and turned
her back upon him.
“And he is thy comrade.”
“Even so--poor knave!”
“And destitute--even as thou?”
“Aye, a sorry clapper-claw--even as I, lady.”
“Then, pray thee, why doth he wear gold chain about his neck?”
“Chain, lady--?”
“Such as only knights do wear!”
“Belike he stole it, lady--”
“Aye--belike he did!” said she, rising; then she sighed and laughed, and so
turned and left him.
And in a while Jocelyn rose also, and went on beside the brook; but as he
walked deep in thought, there met him Robin, he full of mirth and laughter.
“Oho, brother, good brother!” cried he joyfully, clapping hand on Jocelyn's
broad shoulder, “come away, now, and see what the good wind hath blown
hither--come thy ways and see!”
So came they where rose a great tree of huge girth, whose gnarled branches
spread far and wide, a veryforest of leaves, beneath whose shade were many
of the outlaws grouped about one who crouched miserably on his knees, his
arms fast bound and a halter about his neck; and, as obedient to Robin's
words the fierce company fell back, Jocelyn saw this torn and pallid
captive was none other than Ranulph the Hangman.
“Woe's me, my masters!” quoth he 'twixt chattering teeth. “'Tis pity poor
Ranulph must die before his time, for ne'er shall be found hangman,
headsman or torturer the like o' Ranulph--so dainty i' the nice adjustment
o' noose! So clean and delicate wi' the axe! So tender and thoughtful wi'
pincers, thumbscrew, rack or red-hot iron! A hangman so kindly o' soul, so
merry o' heart, alack, so free, so gay, so merry--forsooth a very wanton,
waggish, jovial bawcock-lad--”
“Why, then, good, merry wag,” laughed Robin, “now shalt thou cut us an
antic aloft in air, shalt caper and dance in noose to our joyance! Up with
him, bully lads, and gently, that he may dance the longer!”
But as Ranulph was dragged, shivering, to his feet, Jocelyn stepped
forward.
“Stay!” he cried. “Look, now, here's hangman did but hang since hang he
must; must he hang therefore?”
ROBIN: Aye, marry, since hanging shall his hanging end!
JOCELYN: But if to hang his duty is, must he for duty hang? Moreover, if ye
hang this hangman, unhanged hangmen shall hang still, and since ye may not
all hangmen hang, wherefore should this hangman hang?
ROBIN: Brother, an this hangman hang, fewer hangmen shall there be to hang,
forsooth.
JOCELYN: Not so, Robin, for hangman dead begetteth hangman new; this
hangman hanged, hangman in his place shall hang men after him. Shall this
hangman hang for hanging as in duty bound, whiles other hangmen, unhanged,
hang still? Here, methinks, is small wisdom, little reason, and less of
justice, Robin.
ROBIN: Beshrew me, brother--but here's so much of hanging hanging on
hanging plaguy hangman that hang me if I get the hang on't--
JOCELYN: Plainly, Robin--wilt hang a man for doing his duty?