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James Henry Leigh Hunt - How Robin And His Outlaws Lived In The Woods
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Robin and his merry men
   Lived just like the birds;
They had almost as many tracks as thoughts,
   And whistles and songs as words.

Up they were with the earliest sign
   Of the sun`s up-looking eye;
But not an archer breakfasted
   Till he twinkled from the sky.

All the morning they were wont
   To fly their grey-goose quills
At butts, or wands, or trees, or twigs,
   Till theirs was the skill of skills.

With swords too they played lustily,
   And at quarter-staff;
Many a hit would have made some cry,
   Which only made them laugh.

The horn was then their dinner-bell;
   When like princes of the wood,
Under the glimmering summer trees,
   Pure venison was their food.

Pure venison and a little wine,
   Except when the skies were rough;
Or when they had a feasting day;
   For their blood was wine enough.

And story then, and joke, and song,
   And Harry`s harp went round;
And sometimes they`d get up and dance,
   For pleasure of the sound.

Tingle, tangle! said the harp,
   As they footed in and out:
Good lord! it was a sight to see
      Their feathers float about;—

A pleasant sight, especially
  : If Margery was there,
Or little Ciss, or laughing Bess,
  : Or Moll with the clumps of hair;

Or any other merry lass
  : From the neighbouring villages,
Who came with milk and eggs, or fruit,
  : A singing through the trees.

For all the country round about
  : Was fond of Robin Hood,
With whom they got a share of more
  : Than the acorns in the wood;

Nor ever would he suffer harm
  : To woman, above all;
No plunder, were she ne`er so great,
  : No fright to great or small;

No,—not a single kiss unliked,
  : Nor one look-saddening clip;
Accurst be he, said Robin Hood,
  : Makes pale a woman`s lip.

Only on the haughty rich,
  : And on their unjust store,
He`d lay his fines of equity
  : For his merry men and the poor.

And special was his joy, no doubt
  : (Which made the dish to curse)
To light upon a good fat friar,
  : And carve him of his purse.

A monk to him was a toad in the hole,
  : And an abbot a pig in grain,
But a bishop was a baron of beef,
  : With cut and come again.

Never poor man came for help,
   And wnet away denied;
Never woman for redress,
   And went away wet-eyed.

Says Robin to the poor who came
  : To ask of him relief,
You do but get your goods again,
  : That were altered by the thief;

There, ploughman, is a sheaf of your`s
  : Turned to yellow gold;
And, miller, there`s your last year`s rent,
  : `Twill wrap thee from the cold:

And you there, Wat of Lancashire,
  : Who such a way have come,
Get upon your land-tax, man,
  : And ride it merrily home.
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