章节正文
thou art anhungered, art thou?" quoth he. "But, fair youth,
if thou livest long enough, thou wilt find that he who getteth
overmuch sleep for an idle head goeth with an empty stomach.
For what sayeth the old saw, Master Greenleaf? Is it not `The
late fowl findeth but ill faring'?"
"Now, thou great purse of fat!" cried Little John, "I ask
thee not for fool's wisdom, but for bread and meat.
Who art thou, that thou shouldst deny me to eat?
By Saint Dunstan, thou hadst best tell me where my breakfast is,
if thou wouldst save broken bones!"
"Thy breakfast, Master Fireblaze, is in the pantry," answered the Steward.
"Then fetch it hither!" cried Little John, who waxed angry by this time.
"Go thou and fetch it thine own self," quoth the Steward. "Am I thy slave,
to fetch and carry for thee?"
"I say, go thou, bring it me!"
"I say, go thou, fetch it for thyself!"
"Ay, marry, that will I, right quickly!" quoth Little John in a rage.
And, so saying, he strode to the pantry and tried to open the door
but found it locked, whereat the Steward laughed and rattled his keys.
Then the wrath of Little John boiled over, and, lifting his clenched fist,
he smote the pantry door, bursting out three panels and making so large
an opening that he could easily stoop and walk through it.
When the Steward saw what was done, he waxed mad with rage;
and, as Little John stooped to look within the pantry,
he seized him from behind by the nape of the neck, pinching him
sorely and smiting him over the head with his keys till
the yeoman's ears rang again. At this Little John turned upon
the Steward and smote him such a buffet that the fat man fell
to the floor and lay there as though he would never move again.
"There," quoth Little John, "think well of that stroke and never
keep a good breakfast from a hungry man again."
So saying, he crept into the pantry and looked about him
to see if he could find something to appease his hunger.
He saw a great venison pasty and two roasted capons, beside which
was a platter of plover's eggs; moreover, there was a flask
of sack and one of canary--a sweet sight to a hungry man.
These he took down from the shelves and placed upon a sideboard,
and prepared to make himself merry.
Now the Cook, in the kitchen across the courtyard, heard the loud
talking between Little John and the Steward, and also the blow
that Little John struck the other, so he came running across
the court and up the stairway to where the Steward's pantry was,
bearing in his hands the spit with the roast still upon it.
Meanwhile the Steward had gathered his wits about him and risen
to his feet, so that when the Cook came to the Steward's pantry
he saw him glowering through the broken door at Little John,
who was making ready for a good repast, as one dog glowers
at another that has a bone. When the Steward saw the Cook,
he came to him, and, putting one arm over his shoulder,
"Alas, sweet friend!" quoth he--for the Cook was a tall,
stout man--"seest thou what that vile knave Reynold Greenleaf
hath done? He hath broken in upon our master's goods, and hath
smitten me a buffet upon the ear, so that I thought I was dead.
Good Cook, I love thee well, and thou shalt have a good pottle
of our master's best wine every day, for thou art an old
and faithful servant. Also, good Cook, I have ten shillings
that I mean to give as a gift to thee. But hatest thou not
to see a vile upstart like this Reynold Greenleaf taking it
upon him so bravely?"
"Ay, marry, that do I," quoth the Cook boldly, for he liked the Steward
because of his talk of the wine and of the ten shillings. "Get thee gone
straightway to thy room, and I will bring out this knave by his ears."
So saying, he laid aside his spit and drew the sword that hung by his side;
whereupon the Steward left as quickly as he could, for he hated the sight
of naked steel.
Then the Cook walked straightway to the broken pantry door,
through which he saw Little John tucking a napkin beneath his
chin and preparing to make himself merry.
"Why, how now, Reynold Greenleaf?" said the Cook, "thou art no better
than a thief, I wot. Come thou straight forth, man, or I will carve
thee as I would carve a sucking pig."
"Nay, good Cook, bear thou thyself more seemingly, or else I will
come forth to thy dole. At most times I am as a yearling lamb,
but when one cometh between me and my meat, I am a raging lion,
as it were."
"Lion or no lion," quoth the valorous Cook, "come thou straight forth,
else thou art a coward heart as well as a knavish thief."
"Ha!" cried Little John, "coward's name have I never had;
so, look to thyself, good Cook, for I come forth straight,
the roaring lion I did speak of but now."
Then he, too, drew his sword and came out of the pantry;
then, putting themselves into position, they came slowly together,
with grim and angry looks; but suddenly Little John lowered his point.
"Hold, good Cook!" said he. "Now, I bethink me it were ill of us
to fight with good victuals standing so nigh, and such a feast
as would befit two stout fellows such as we are. Marry, good friend,
I think we should enjoy this fair feast ere we fight.
What sayest thou, jolly Cook?"
At this speech the Cook looked up and down, scratching his head
in doubt, for he loved good feasting. At last he drew a long
breath and said to Little John, "Well, good friend, I like thy plan
right well; so, pretty boy, say I, let us feast, with all my heart,
for one of us may sup in Paradise before nightfall."
So each thrust his sword back into the scabbard and entered the pantry.
Then, after they had seated themselves, Little John drew his
dagger and thrust it into the pie. "A hungry man must be fed,"
quoth he, "so, sweet chuck, I help myself without leave."
But the Cook did not lag far behind, for straightway his hands
also were deeply thrust within the goodly pasty. After this,
neither of them spoke further, but used their teeth to better purpose.
But though neither spoke, they looked at one another, each thinking
within himself that he had never seen a more lusty fellow than
the one across the board.
At last, after a long time had passed, the Cook drew
a full, deep breath, as though of much regret, and wiped
his hands upon the napkin, for he could eat no more.
Little John, also, had enough, for he pushed the pasty aside,
as though he would say, "I want thee by me no more, good friend."
Then he took the pottle of sack, and said he, "Now, good fellow,
I swear by all that is bright, that thou art the stoutest
companion at eating that ever I had. Lo! I drink thy health."
So saying, he clapped the flask to his lips and cast
his eyes aloft, while the good wine flooded his throat.
Then he passed the pottle to the Cook, who also said, "Lo, I
drink thy health, sweet fellow!" Nor was he behind Little John
in drinking any more than in eating.
"Now," quoth Little John, "thy voice is right round and sweet, jolly lad.
I doubt not thou canst sing a ballad most blithely; canst thou not?"
"Truly, I have trolled one now and then," quoth the Cook,
"yet I would not sing alone."
"Nay, truly," said Little John, "that were but ill courtesy.
Strike up thy ditty, and I will afterward sing one to match it,
if I can.
"So be it, pretty boy," quoth the Cook. "And hast thou e'er heard the song
of the Deserted Shepherdess?"
"Truly, I know not," answered Little John, "but sing thou and let me hear."
Then the Cook took another draught from the pottle, and, clearing his throat,
sang right sweetly:
THE SONG OF THE DESERTED SHEPHERDESS
"_In Lententime, when leaves wax green,
And pretty birds begin to mate,
When lark cloth sing, and thrush, I ween,
And stockdove cooeth soon and late,
Fair Phillis sat beside a stone,
And thus I heard her make her moan:
'O willow, willow, willow, willow!
I'll take me of thy branches fair
And twine a wreath to deck my hair.
" `The thrush hath taken him a she,
The robin, too, and eke the dove;
My Robin hath deserted me,
And left me for another love.
So here, by brookside, all alone,
I sit me down and make my moan.
O willow, willow, willow, willow!
I'll take me of thy branches fair
And twine a wreath to deck my hair.'
"But ne'er came herring from the sea,
But good as he were in the tide;
Young Corydon came o'er the lea,
And sat him Phillis down beside.
So, presently, she changed her tone,
And 'gan to cease her from her moan,
'O willow, willow, willow, willow!
Thou mayst e'en keep thy garlands fair,
I want them not to deck my hair_.' "
"Now, by my faith," cried Little John, "that same is a right good song,
and hath truth in it, also."
"Glad am I thou likest it, sweet lad," said the Cook. "Now sing
thou one also, for ne'er should a man be merry alone, or sing
and list not."
"Then I will sing thee a song of a right good knight of Arthur's court,
and how he cured his heart's wound without running upon the dart again, as did
thy Phillis; for I wot she did but cure one smart by giving herself another.
So, list thou while I sing:
THE GOOD KNIGHT AND HIS LOVE
"_When Arthur, King, did rule this land,
A goodly king was he,
And had he of stout knights a band
Of merry company.
"Among them all, both great and small,
A good stout knight was there,
A lusty childe, and eke a tall,
That loved a lady fair.
"But nought would she to do with he,
But turned her face away;
So gat he gone to far countrye,
And left that lady gay.
"There all alone he made his moan,
And eke did sob and sigh,
And weep till it would move a stone,
And he was like to die.
"But still his heart did feel the smart,
And eke the dire distress,
And rather grew his pain more sharp
As grew his body less.
"Then gat he back where was good sack
And merry com panye,
And soon did cease to cry `Alack!'
When blithe and gay was he.
"From which I hold, and feel full bold
To say, and eke believe,
That gin the belly go not cold
The heart will cease to grieve_."
"Now, by my faith," cried the Cook, as he rattled the pottle against
the sideboard, "I like that same song hugely, and eke the motive of it,
which lieth like a sweet kernel in a hazelnut"
"Now thou art a man of shrewd opinions," quoth Little John,
"and I love thee truly as thou wert my brother."
"And I love thee, too. But the day draweth on, and I have my cooking
to do ere our master cometh home; so let us e'en go and settle this
if thou livest long enough, thou wilt find that he who getteth
overmuch sleep for an idle head goeth with an empty stomach.
For what sayeth the old saw, Master Greenleaf? Is it not `The
late fowl findeth but ill faring'?"
"Now, thou great purse of fat!" cried Little John, "I ask
thee not for fool's wisdom, but for bread and meat.
Who art thou, that thou shouldst deny me to eat?
By Saint Dunstan, thou hadst best tell me where my breakfast is,
if thou wouldst save broken bones!"
"Thy breakfast, Master Fireblaze, is in the pantry," answered the Steward.
"Then fetch it hither!" cried Little John, who waxed angry by this time.
"Go thou and fetch it thine own self," quoth the Steward. "Am I thy slave,
to fetch and carry for thee?"
"I say, go thou, bring it me!"
"I say, go thou, fetch it for thyself!"
"Ay, marry, that will I, right quickly!" quoth Little John in a rage.
And, so saying, he strode to the pantry and tried to open the door
but found it locked, whereat the Steward laughed and rattled his keys.
Then the wrath of Little John boiled over, and, lifting his clenched fist,
he smote the pantry door, bursting out three panels and making so large
an opening that he could easily stoop and walk through it.
When the Steward saw what was done, he waxed mad with rage;
and, as Little John stooped to look within the pantry,
he seized him from behind by the nape of the neck, pinching him
sorely and smiting him over the head with his keys till
the yeoman's ears rang again. At this Little John turned upon
the Steward and smote him such a buffet that the fat man fell
to the floor and lay there as though he would never move again.
"There," quoth Little John, "think well of that stroke and never
keep a good breakfast from a hungry man again."
So saying, he crept into the pantry and looked about him
to see if he could find something to appease his hunger.
He saw a great venison pasty and two roasted capons, beside which
was a platter of plover's eggs; moreover, there was a flask
of sack and one of canary--a sweet sight to a hungry man.
These he took down from the shelves and placed upon a sideboard,
and prepared to make himself merry.
Now the Cook, in the kitchen across the courtyard, heard the loud
talking between Little John and the Steward, and also the blow
that Little John struck the other, so he came running across
the court and up the stairway to where the Steward's pantry was,
bearing in his hands the spit with the roast still upon it.
Meanwhile the Steward had gathered his wits about him and risen
to his feet, so that when the Cook came to the Steward's pantry
he saw him glowering through the broken door at Little John,
who was making ready for a good repast, as one dog glowers
at another that has a bone. When the Steward saw the Cook,
he came to him, and, putting one arm over his shoulder,
"Alas, sweet friend!" quoth he--for the Cook was a tall,
stout man--"seest thou what that vile knave Reynold Greenleaf
hath done? He hath broken in upon our master's goods, and hath
smitten me a buffet upon the ear, so that I thought I was dead.
Good Cook, I love thee well, and thou shalt have a good pottle
of our master's best wine every day, for thou art an old
and faithful servant. Also, good Cook, I have ten shillings
that I mean to give as a gift to thee. But hatest thou not
to see a vile upstart like this Reynold Greenleaf taking it
upon him so bravely?"
"Ay, marry, that do I," quoth the Cook boldly, for he liked the Steward
because of his talk of the wine and of the ten shillings. "Get thee gone
straightway to thy room, and I will bring out this knave by his ears."
So saying, he laid aside his spit and drew the sword that hung by his side;
whereupon the Steward left as quickly as he could, for he hated the sight
of naked steel.
Then the Cook walked straightway to the broken pantry door,
through which he saw Little John tucking a napkin beneath his
chin and preparing to make himself merry.
"Why, how now, Reynold Greenleaf?" said the Cook, "thou art no better
than a thief, I wot. Come thou straight forth, man, or I will carve
thee as I would carve a sucking pig."
"Nay, good Cook, bear thou thyself more seemingly, or else I will
come forth to thy dole. At most times I am as a yearling lamb,
but when one cometh between me and my meat, I am a raging lion,
as it were."
"Lion or no lion," quoth the valorous Cook, "come thou straight forth,
else thou art a coward heart as well as a knavish thief."
"Ha!" cried Little John, "coward's name have I never had;
so, look to thyself, good Cook, for I come forth straight,
the roaring lion I did speak of but now."
Then he, too, drew his sword and came out of the pantry;
then, putting themselves into position, they came slowly together,
with grim and angry looks; but suddenly Little John lowered his point.
"Hold, good Cook!" said he. "Now, I bethink me it were ill of us
to fight with good victuals standing so nigh, and such a feast
as would befit two stout fellows such as we are. Marry, good friend,
I think we should enjoy this fair feast ere we fight.
What sayest thou, jolly Cook?"
At this speech the Cook looked up and down, scratching his head
in doubt, for he loved good feasting. At last he drew a long
breath and said to Little John, "Well, good friend, I like thy plan
right well; so, pretty boy, say I, let us feast, with all my heart,
for one of us may sup in Paradise before nightfall."
So each thrust his sword back into the scabbard and entered the pantry.
Then, after they had seated themselves, Little John drew his
dagger and thrust it into the pie. "A hungry man must be fed,"
quoth he, "so, sweet chuck, I help myself without leave."
But the Cook did not lag far behind, for straightway his hands
also were deeply thrust within the goodly pasty. After this,
neither of them spoke further, but used their teeth to better purpose.
But though neither spoke, they looked at one another, each thinking
within himself that he had never seen a more lusty fellow than
the one across the board.
At last, after a long time had passed, the Cook drew
a full, deep breath, as though of much regret, and wiped
his hands upon the napkin, for he could eat no more.
Little John, also, had enough, for he pushed the pasty aside,
as though he would say, "I want thee by me no more, good friend."
Then he took the pottle of sack, and said he, "Now, good fellow,
I swear by all that is bright, that thou art the stoutest
companion at eating that ever I had. Lo! I drink thy health."
So saying, he clapped the flask to his lips and cast
his eyes aloft, while the good wine flooded his throat.
Then he passed the pottle to the Cook, who also said, "Lo, I
drink thy health, sweet fellow!" Nor was he behind Little John
in drinking any more than in eating.
"Now," quoth Little John, "thy voice is right round and sweet, jolly lad.
I doubt not thou canst sing a ballad most blithely; canst thou not?"
"Truly, I have trolled one now and then," quoth the Cook,
"yet I would not sing alone."
"Nay, truly," said Little John, "that were but ill courtesy.
Strike up thy ditty, and I will afterward sing one to match it,
if I can.
"So be it, pretty boy," quoth the Cook. "And hast thou e'er heard the song
of the Deserted Shepherdess?"
"Truly, I know not," answered Little John, "but sing thou and let me hear."
Then the Cook took another draught from the pottle, and, clearing his throat,
sang right sweetly:
THE SONG OF THE DESERTED SHEPHERDESS
"_In Lententime, when leaves wax green,
And pretty birds begin to mate,
When lark cloth sing, and thrush, I ween,
And stockdove cooeth soon and late,
Fair Phillis sat beside a stone,
And thus I heard her make her moan:
'O willow, willow, willow, willow!
I'll take me of thy branches fair
And twine a wreath to deck my hair.
" `The thrush hath taken him a she,
The robin, too, and eke the dove;
My Robin hath deserted me,
And left me for another love.
So here, by brookside, all alone,
I sit me down and make my moan.
O willow, willow, willow, willow!
I'll take me of thy branches fair
And twine a wreath to deck my hair.'
"But ne'er came herring from the sea,
But good as he were in the tide;
Young Corydon came o'er the lea,
And sat him Phillis down beside.
So, presently, she changed her tone,
And 'gan to cease her from her moan,
'O willow, willow, willow, willow!
Thou mayst e'en keep thy garlands fair,
I want them not to deck my hair_.' "
"Now, by my faith," cried Little John, "that same is a right good song,
and hath truth in it, also."
"Glad am I thou likest it, sweet lad," said the Cook. "Now sing
thou one also, for ne'er should a man be merry alone, or sing
and list not."
"Then I will sing thee a song of a right good knight of Arthur's court,
and how he cured his heart's wound without running upon the dart again, as did
thy Phillis; for I wot she did but cure one smart by giving herself another.
So, list thou while I sing:
THE GOOD KNIGHT AND HIS LOVE
"_When Arthur, King, did rule this land,
A goodly king was he,
And had he of stout knights a band
Of merry company.
"Among them all, both great and small,
A good stout knight was there,
A lusty childe, and eke a tall,
That loved a lady fair.
"But nought would she to do with he,
But turned her face away;
So gat he gone to far countrye,
And left that lady gay.
"There all alone he made his moan,
And eke did sob and sigh,
And weep till it would move a stone,
And he was like to die.
"But still his heart did feel the smart,
And eke the dire distress,
And rather grew his pain more sharp
As grew his body less.
"Then gat he back where was good sack
And merry com panye,
And soon did cease to cry `Alack!'
When blithe and gay was he.
"From which I hold, and feel full bold
To say, and eke believe,
That gin the belly go not cold
The heart will cease to grieve_."
"Now, by my faith," cried the Cook, as he rattled the pottle against
the sideboard, "I like that same song hugely, and eke the motive of it,
which lieth like a sweet kernel in a hazelnut"
"Now thou art a man of shrewd opinions," quoth Little John,
"and I love thee truly as thou wert my brother."
"And I love thee, too. But the day draweth on, and I have my cooking
to do ere our master cometh home; so let us e'en go and settle this
- wisdom [´wizdəm]
n.智慧，聪明，才智 (初中英语单词) - opening [´əupəniŋ] n.开放；开端 a.开始的 (初中英语单词)
- moreover [mɔ:´rəuvə] ad.再者，此外，而且 (初中英语单词)
- running [´rʌniŋ] a.奔跑的；流动的 (初中英语单词)
- faithful [´feiθfəl] a.忠实的；可靠的 (初中英语单词)
- coward [´kauəd] n.胆怯者 a.胆小的 (初中英语单词)
- standing [´stændiŋ] n.持续 a.直立的 (初中英语单词)
- paradise [´pærədais] n.天堂；乐园 (初中英语单词)
- thrust [θrʌst] v.&n.猛推；冲；刺；挤进 (初中英语单词)
- breath [breθ] n.呼吸；气息 (初中英语单词)
- willow [´wiləu] n.柳树 (初中英语单词)
- wreath [ri:θ] n.花圈；花环；圈状物 (初中英语单词)
- presently [´prezəntli] ad.不久；目前 (初中英语单词)
- motive [´məutiv] n.动机；主题 a.运动的 (初中英语单词)
- steward [´stju:əd] n.管家；服务员 (高中英语单词)
- saying [´seiŋ, ´sei-iŋ] n.言语；言论；格言 (高中英语单词)
- strode [strəud] stride的过去式 (高中英语单词)
- pantry [´pæntri] n.食品室；餐具室 (高中英语单词)
- buffet [´bʌfit, bʌ´fət] n.食品小卖部 v.打击 (高中英语单词)
- shelves [ʃelvz] shelf的复数 (高中英语单词)
- courtyard [´kɔ:tjɑ:d] n.院子，庭院 (高中英语单词)
- boldly [´bəuldli] ad.大胆地；醒目地 (高中英语单词)
- straightway [´streitwei] ad.立刻 (高中英语单词)
- napkin [´næpkin] n.餐巾；手帕；尿布 (高中英语单词)
- goodly [´gudli] a.适意的；漂亮的 (高中英语单词)
- ballad [´bæləd] n.民歌，民谣 (高中英语单词)
- draught [drɑ:ft] n.通风，通气；吸出 (高中英语单词)
- knight [nait] n.骑士；爵士 (高中英语单词)
- shrewd [ʃru:d] a.精明的；狡猾的 (高中英语单词)
- whereat [weər´æt] ad.对于...；在这里 (英语四级单词)
- appease [ə´pi:z] vt.平息；使满足 (英语四级单词)
- platter [´plætə] n.(椭圆形的)大浅盘 (英语四级单词)
- stairway [´steəwei] n.楼梯 (英语四级单词)
- seemingly [´si:miŋli] ad.表面上；似乎 (英语四级单词)
- clearing [´kliəriŋ] n.(森林中的)空旷地 (英语四级单词)
- thrush [θrʌʃ] n.画眉鸟 (英语四级单词)
- herring [´heriŋ] n.鲱鱼；青鱼 (英语四级单词)
- nought [nɔ:t] n.=naught (英语四级单词)
- venison [´venisən] n.鹿肉；野味 (英语六级单词)
- repast [ri´pɑ:st] n.餐 vi.就餐，设宴 (英语六级单词)
- taking [´teikiŋ] a.迷人的 n.捕获物 (英语六级单词)
- bethink [bi´θiŋk] vt.想起；思考 (英语六级单词)
- blithe [´blaið] a.快乐的；冒失的 (英语六级单词)
- kernel [´kə:nl] n.(果实)核；去壳谷粒 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
章节正文
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