"
"Truly, it was the same," said Little John, laughing also. "Methinks
that was a goodly song that the strolling friar sang. Friar Tuck, thou
hast a quick ear for a tune, dost thou not remember it?"
"I did have the catch of it one time," said Tuck. "Let me see," and he
touched his forefinger to his forehead in thought, humming to himself,
and stopping ever and anon to fit what he had got to what he searched
for in his mind. At last he found it all and clearing his throat, sang
merrily:
"_In the blossoming hedge the robin cock sings,
For the sun it is merry and bright,
And he joyfully hops and he flutters his wings,
For his heart is all full of delight.
For the May bloometh fair,
And there's little of care,
And plenty to eat in the Maytime rare.
When the flowers all die,
Then off he will fly,
To keep himself warm
In some jolly old barn
Where the snow and the wind neither chill him nor harm.
"And such is the life of the strolling friar,
With aplenty to eat and to drink;
For the goodwife will keep him a seat by the fire,
And the pretty girls smile at his wink.
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