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The Merry Adventures

of Robin Hood

By Howard Pyle

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PREFACE FROM THE

AUTHOR TO THE READER

shame to give yourself up even for a few short moments

to mirth and joyousness in the land of Fancy; you who

think that life hath nought to do with innocent laughter

that can harm no one; these pages are not for you. Clap to

the leaves and go no farther than this, for I tell you plain-

ly that if you go farther you will be scandalized by seeing

good, sober folks of real history so frisk and caper in gay

colors and motley that you would not know them but for

the names tagged to them. Here is a stout, lusty fellow with

a quick temper, yet none so ill for all that, who goes by the

name of Henry II. Here is a fair, gentle lady before whom

all the others bow and call her Queen Eleanor. Here is a

fat rogue of a fellow, dressed up in rich robes of a clerical

kind, that all the good folk call my Lord Bishop of Here-

ford. Here is a certain fellow with a sour temper and a grim

look— the worshipful, the Sherif of Nottingham. And here,

above all, is a great, tall, merry fellow that roams the green-

wood and joins in homely sports, and sits beside the Sherif

at merry feast, which same beareth the name of the proud-

est of the Plantagenets—Richard of the Lion’s Heart. Beside

these are a whole host of knights, priests, nobles, burghers,

The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood

Y ou who so plod amid serious things that you feel it

yeomen, pages, ladies, lasses, landlords, beggars, peddlers,

and what not, all living the merriest of merry lives, and all

bound by nothing but a few odd strands of certain old bal-

lads (snipped and clipped and tied together again in a score

of knots) which draw these jocund fellows here and there,

singing as they go.

Here you will ind a hundred dull, sober, jogging places,

all tricked out with lowers and what not, till no one would

know them in their fanciful dress. And here is a country

bearing a well-known name, wherein no chill mists press

upon our spirits, and no rain falls but what rolls of our

backs like April showers of the backs of sleek drakes; where

lowers bloom forever and birds are always singing; where

every fellow hath a merry catch as he travels the roads, and

ale and beer and wine (such as muddle no wits) low like

water in a brook.

his country is not Fairyland. What is it? ‘Tis the land

of Fancy, and is of that pleasant kind that, when you tire of

it—whisk!—you clap the leaves of this book together and

‘tis gone, and you are ready for everyday life, with no harm

done.

And now I lit the curtain that hangs between here and

No-man’s-land. Will you come with me, sweet Reader? I

thank you. Give me your hand.

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How Robin Hood Cane

to Be an Outlaw

Henry the Second ruled the land, there lived within the

green glades of Sherwood Forest, near Nottingham Town,

a famous outlaw whose name was Robin Hood. No archer

ever lived that could speed a gray goose shat with such skill

and cunning as his, nor were there ever such yeomen as the

sevenscore merry men that roamed with him through the

greenwood shades. Right merrily they dwelled within the

depths of Sherwood Forest, sufering neither care nor want,

but passing the time in merry games of archery or bouts of

cudgel play, living upon the King’s venison, washed down

with draughts of ale of October brewing.

Not only Robin himself but all the band were outlaws

and dwelled apart from other men, yet they were beloved

by the country people round about, for no one ever came

to jolly Robin for help in time of need and went away again

with an empty ist.

And now I will tell how it came about that Robin Hood

fell afoul of the law.

When Robin was a youth of eighteen, stout of sinew

and bold of heart, the Sherif of Nottingham proclaimed a

shooting match and ofered a prize of a butt of ale to whoso-

The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood

I N MERRY ENGLAND in the time of old, when good King

ever should shoot the best shat in Nottinghamshire. ‘Now,’

quoth Robin, ‘will I go too, for fain would I draw a string

for the bright eyes of my lass and a butt of good October

brewing.’ So up he got and took his good stout yew bow

and a score or more of broad clothyard arrows, and started

of from Locksley Town through Sherwood Forest to Not-

tingham.

It was at the dawn of day in the merry Maytime, when

hedgerows are green and lowers bedeck the meadows;

daisies pied and yellow cuckoo buds and fair primroses

all along the briery hedges; when apple buds blossom and

sweet birds sing, the lark at dawn of day, the throstle cock

and cuckoo; when lads and lasses look upon each other with

sweet thoughts; when busy housewives spread their linen to

bleach upon the bright green grass. Sweet was the green-

wood as he walked along its paths, and bright the green and

rustling leaves, amid which the little birds sang with might

and main: and blithely Robin whistled as he trudged along,

thinking of Maid Marian and her bright eyes, for at such

times a youth’s thoughts are wont to turn pleasantly upon

the lass that he loves the best.

As thus he walked along with a brisk step and a mer-

ry whistle, he came suddenly upon some foresters seated

beneath a great oak tree. Fiteen there were in all, mak-

ing themselves merry with feasting and drinking as they

sat around a huge pasty, to which each man helped him-

self, thrusting his hands into the pie, and washing down

that which they ate with great horns of ale which they drew

all foaming from a barrel that stood nigh. Each man was

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