Lo ! see my staff is lusty and tough, Now here on the bridge we will play ; Whoever falls in, the other shall win The battle, and so we’ll away. {293} With all my whole heart, the stranger reply’d, I scorn in the least to give out ; This said, they fell to’t without more dispute, And their staffs they did flourish about. At first Robin he gave the stranger a bang, So hard that he made his bones ring : The stranger he said, This must be repaid, I’ll give you as good as you bring. So long as I am able to handle a staff, To die in your debt, friend, I scorn. Then to it each goes, and follow’d their blows, As if they’d been threshing of corn. The stranger gave Robin a crack on the crown, Which caused the blood to appear ; Then Robin enrag’d, more fiercely engag’d, And follow’d his blows more severe. So thick and so fast did he lay it on him, With a passionate fury and ire ; At every stroke he made him to smoke, As if he had been all on fire. O then into fury the stranger he grew, And gave him a damnable look, And with it a blow that laid him full low, And tumbl’d him into the brook. {294} I prithee, good fellow, O where art thou now ? The stranger, in laughter, he cry’d. Quoth bold Robin Hood, Good faith, in the flood, And floating along with the tide. I needs must acknowledge thou art a brave soul, With thee I’ll no longer contend ; For needs must I say, thou hast got the day, Our battel shall be at an end. Then unto the bank he did presently wade, And pull’d himself out by a thorn ; Which done, at the last he blow’d a loud blast Straitway on his fine bugle-horn : The eccho of which through the vallies did fly, At which his stout bowmen appear’d, All cloathed in green, most gay to be seen, So up to their master they steer’d. O, what’s the matter ? quoth William Stutely, Good master, you are wet to the skin. No matter, quoth he, the lad which you see In fighting hath tumbl’d me in. He shall not go scot-free, the others reply’d ; So strait they were seizing him there, To duck him likewise : but Robin Hood cries, He is a stout fellow ; forbear. {295} There’s no one shall wrong thee, friend, be not afraid ; These bowmen upon me do wait ; There’s threescore and nine ; if thou wilt be mine, Thou shalt have my livery strait, And other accoutrements fit for a man ; Speak up, jolly blade, never fear : I’ll teach you also the use of the bow, To shoot at the fat fallow deer. O, here is my hand, the stranger reply’d, I’ll serve you with all my whole heart ; My name is John Little, a man of good mettle ; Ne’re doubt me, for I’ll play my part. His name shall be alter’d, quoth William Stutely, And I will his godfather be ; Prepare then a feast, and none of the least, For we will be merry, quoth he.