I don't like those gods. I never cared for them. But, as for Much, Much is the best of all the merry men. And, mistress, O, he speaks so beautifully, It _might_ be just an Echo from blue hills Far, far away! You see he's quite a scholar: Much, more an' most (That's what he calls the three Greasy caparisons--much, more an' most)! You see they thought that being so very small They could not make him grow to be a man, They'd make a scholar of him instead. The Friar Taught him his letters. He can write his name, And mine, and yours, just like a missal book, In lovely colours; and he always draws The first big letter of JENNY like a tree With naked Cupids hiding in the branches. Mistress, I don't believe you hear one word I ever speak to you! Your eyes are always That far and far away. MARIAN I'm listening, Jenny! JENNY Well, when he draws the first big M of yours, He makes it like a bridge from earth to heaven, With white-winged angels passing up and down; And, underneath the bridge, in a black stream, He puts the drowning face of the bad Prince Holding his wicked hands out, while a devil Stands on the bank and with a pointed stake Keeps him from landing-- Ah, what's that? What's that? MARIAN O Jenny, how you startled me! JENNY I thought I saw that same face peering thro' the ferns Yonder--there--see, they are shaking still. [_She screams._] Ah! Ah! [_PRINCE JOHN and another man appear advancing across the glade._] JOHN So here's my dainty tigress in her den, And--Warman--there's a pretty scrap for you Beside her. Now, sweet mistress, will you deign To come with me, to change these cheerless woods For something queenlier? If I be not mistaken, You have had time to tire of that dark cave. Was I not right, now? Surely you can see Those tresses were not meant to waste their gold Upon this desert. Nay, but Marian, hear me. I do not jest. [_At a sign from MARIAN, JENNY goes quickly inside the cave._] That's well! Dismiss your maid! Warman, remove a little. [_His man retires._] I see you think A little better of me! Out in the wood There waits a palfrey for you, and the stirrup Longs, as I long, to clasp your dainty foot. I am very sure by this you must be tired Of outlawry, a lovely maid like you. [_He draws nearer._] MARIAN Wait--I must think, must think. JOHN Give me your hand! Why do you shrink from me? If you could know The fire that burns me night and day, you would not Refuse to let me snatch one cooling kiss From that white hand of yours.