The lasses, also, looked at him askance, thinking they had never
seen a lustier youth.
First of all he went to the booth where stout ale was sold and, standing
aloft on a bench, he called to all that were near to come and drink
with him. "Hey, sweet lads!" cried he "who will drink ale with a stout
yeoman? Come, all! Come, all! Let us be merry, for the day is sweet and
the ale is tingling. Come hither, good yeoman, and thou, and thou;
for not a farthing shall one of you pay. Nay, turn hither, thou lusty
beggar, and thou jolly tinker, for all shall be merry with me."
Thus he shouted, and all crowded around, laughing, while the brown ale
flowed; and they called Little John a brave fellow, each swearing that
he loved him as his own brother; for when one has entertainment with
nothing to pay, one loves the man that gives it to one.
Then he strolled to the platform where they were at cudgel play, for he
loved a bout at quarterstaff as he loved meat and drink; and here befell
an adventure that was sung in ballads throughout the mid-country for
many a day.
One fellow there was that cracked crowns of everyone who threw cap into
the ring. This was Eric o' Lincoln, of great renown, whose name had been
sung in ballads throughout the countryside. When Little John reached the
stand he found none fighting, but only bold Eric walking up and down the
platform, swinging his staff and shouting lustily, "Now, who will
come and strike a stroke for the lass he loves the best, with a good
Lincolnshire yeoman? How now, lads? Step up! Step up! Or else the
lasses' eyes are not bright hereabouts, or the blood of Nottingham youth
is sluggish and cold.
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