Quoth Robin, Will I Go Too for Fain?

When robin was a youth of 18, stout of sinew and bold of heart, the sheriff of nottingham proclaimed a shooting match. Now quoth robin, will i go too for fain would i draw a string for the bright eyes of my lass and a butt of good october brewing? So up he got and took his good stout ew bow and a score or more of broad cloth yard arrows, and started off from locksley town, through sherwood forest to nottingham. Sweet was the greenwood as he walked along its path. And bright and green and rustling leaves amid which the little birds sang with might and main and blithely,