This is not a fit match, quoth bold Robin Hood,

That you do seem to make here;

For since we are come into the church,

The bride shall choose her own dear.

Then Robin Hood put his horn to his mouth, And blew blasts two or three;

Then four and twenty bowmen bold

Came leaping over the lea.

And when they came into the churchyard,

Marching all on a row,

The first man was Allen-a-Dale,

To give bold Robin his bow.

This is thy true love, Robin he said,
Young Allen, as I have heard say,

And thou shalt be married at this same time,
Before we depart away.

That shalt not be, the bishop he said,

For thy word shall not stand;

They shall be three times asked in the church,

As the law is of our land.

Robin Hood pull'd off the bishop's coat,

And put it upon Little John;

By the faith of my body, then Robin he said,

This cloth doth make thee a man.

When Little John went to the quire,

The people began to laugh:

He ask'd them seven times in the church,
Lest three times should not be enough.

Who gives this maid? said Little John;

Quoth Robin, that do I;

And he that takes her from Allen-a-Dale,

Full dearly shall her buy.

And thus having ended this merry wedding,
The bride she looked like a queen!

And so they returned to the merry green wood,
Amongst the leaves so green.

HEN Flora 'gins to deck the fields
With colours fresh and fine,

Then holy clerks their matins sing
To good Saint Valentine!

The king of France that morning fair He would a hunting ride:

To Artois forest prancing forth

In all his princely pride.

To grace his sports a courtly train

Of gallant peers attend;

And with their loud and cheerful cries

The hills and valleys rend.

Through the deep forest swift they pass, Through woods and thickets wild; When down within a lonely dell

They found a new-born child;

All in a scarlet kercher laid

Of silk so fine and thin :

A golden mantle wrapt him round
Pinn'd with a silver pin.

The sudden sight surpris'd them all;
The courtiers gather'd round;

They look, they call, the mother seek;

No mother could be found.

At length the king himself drew near, And as he gazing stands,

The pretty babe look'd up and smil'd, And stretch'd his little hands.

Now, by the rood, king Pepin says,
This child is passing fair:

I wot he is of gentle blood;

Perhaps some prince's heir.