Long had they not walked within the green-wood, But Robin he soon espy’d, A[300] beautiful damsel all alone, That on a black palfrey did ride. {225} Her riding-suit was of a sable hew black, Cypress over her face, Through which her rose-like cheeks did blush, All with a comely grace. Come tell me the cause, thou pretty one, Quoth Robin, and tell me aright, From whence thou comest, and whither thou goest, All in this mournful plight ? From London I came, the damsel reply’d, From London upon the Thames, Which circled is, O grief to tell ! Besieg’d with foreign arms, By the proud prince of Arragon, Who swears by his martial hand To have the princess to his spouse, Or else to waste this land ; Except such champions can be found, That dare fight three to three, Against the prince, and giants twain, Most horrid for to see ; Whose grisly looks, and eyes like brands, Strike terrour where they come, With serpents hissing on their helms, Instead of feathered plume. {226} The princess shall be the victor’s prize, The king hath vow’d and said, And he that shall the conquest win, Shall have her to his bride. Now we are four damsels sent abroad, To the east, west, north, and south, To try whose fortune is so good To find these champions ‘out.’[301] But all in vain we have sought about, For none so bold there are That dare adventure life and blood, To free a lady fair. When is the day ? quoth Robin Hood, Tell me this and no more. On Midsummer next, the dam’sel said, Which is June the twenty-four. With that the tears trickled down her cheeks, And silent was her tongue ; With sighs and sobs she took her leave, Away her palfrey sprung. The news struck Robin to the heart, He fell down on the grass, His actions and his troubled mind Shew’d he perplexed was. {227} Where lies your grief ? quoth Will ‘Scadlòck,’ O, master, tell to me : If the damsels eyes have pierc’d your heart, I’ll fetch her back to thee. Now nay, now nay, quoth Robin Hood, She doth not cause my smart ; But ’tis the poor distressed princèss, That wounds me to the heart ; I’ll go fight the [prince and] giants all, To set the lady free. The devil take my soul, quoth Little John, If I part with thy company. Must I stay behind ? quoth Will Scadlòck, No, no, that must not be ; I’le make the third man in the fight, So we shall be three to three. These words cheer’d Robin to the heart, Joy shone within his face, Within his arms he hugg’d them both, And kindly did imbrace. Quoth he, We’ll put on mothley grey, And long staves in our hands, A scrip and bottle by our sides, As come from the holy land. {228} So may we pass along the high-way, None will ask us from whence we came, But take us pilgrims for to be, Or else some holy men.