What can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie,

What can a young lassie do wi’an auld man?

Burns.

“Here is but five shillings and a ring,” said Little John, “and the young man has spoken true.”

“Then,” said Robin to the stranger, “if want of money be the cause of your melancholy, speak. Little John is my treasurer, and he shall disburse to you.”

“It is, and it is not,” said the stranger; “it is, because, had I not wanted money I had never lost my love; it is not, because, now that I have lost her, money would come too late to regain her.”

“In what way have you lost her?” said Robin: “let us clearly know that she is past regaining, before we give up our wishes to restore her to you.”

“She is to be married this day,” said the stranger, “and perhaps is married by this, to a rich old knight; and yesterday I knew it not.”

“What is your name?” said Robin.

“Allen,” said the stranger.

“And where is the marriage to take place, Allen?” said Robin.

“At Edwinstow church,” said Allen, “by the bishop of Nottingham.”

“I know that bishop,” said Robin; “he dined with me a month since, and paid three hundred pounds for his dinner. He has a good ear and loves music. The friar sang to him to some tune. Give me my harper’s cloak, and I will play a part at this wedding.

“These are dangerous times, Robin,” said Marian, “for playing pranks out of the forest.”

“Fear not,” said Robin; “Edwinstow lies not Nottingham-ward, and I will take my precautions.”

Robin put on his harper’s cloak, while Little John painted his eyebrows and cheeks, tipped his nose with red, and tied him on a comely beard. Marian confessed, that had she not been present at the metamorphosis, she should not have known her own true Robin. Robin took his harp and went to the wedding.

Robin found the bishop and his train in the church porch, impatiently expecting the arrival of the bride and bridegroom. The clerk was observing to the bishop that the knight was somewhat gouty, and that the necessity of walking the last quarter of a mile from the road to the churchyard probably detained the lively bridegroom rather longer than had been calculated upon.

“Oh! by my fey,” said the music-loving bishop, “here comes a harper in the nick of time, and now I care not how long they tarry. Ho! honest friend, are you come to play at the wedding?”

“I am come to play anywhere,” answered Robin, “where I can get a cup of sack; for which I will sing the praise of the donor in lofty verse, and emblazon him with any virtue which he may wish to have the credit of possessing, without the trouble of practising.

“A most courtly harper,” said the bishop; “I will fill thee with sack; I will make thee a walking butt of sack, if thou wilt delight my ears with thy melodies.”

“That will I,” said Robin; “in what branch of my art shall I exert my faculty? I am passing well in all, from the anthem to the glee, and from the dirge to the coranto.”

“It would be idle,” said the bishop, “to give thee sack for playing me anthems, seeing that I myself do receive sack for hearing them sung. Therefore, as the occasion is festive, thou shalt play me a coranto.”

Robin struck up and played away merrily, the bishop all the while in great delight, noddling his head, and beating time with his foot, till the bride and bridegroom appeared. The bridegroom was richly apparelled, and came slowly and painfully forward, hobbling and leering, and pursing up his mouth into a smile of resolute defiance to the gout, and of tender complacency towards his lady love, who, shining like gold at the old knight’s expense............