Full often hath he dyed ere now to earn his
daily bread,
Thus, dyeing not, this worthy Dyer must soon,
alas! be dead.
"Here's Rick--a saintly ploughman, he
Hath guided plough so well,
That here, with rogues the like of me,
He pines in dungeon cell.
"Here's Red-haired Will--O fie!
That Will should fettered lie
In such base, cruel manner!
For though his hair be red,
Brave Will, when all is said,
Is--hark 'ee--Will's a tanner!"
"Enough, Fool!" cried Will. "An thou must sing, sing of thyself, for
thyself, to thyself, and I will sing of myself an' need be!"
Laughed JOCELYN:
Why then, brave Will,
Come, sing thy fill.
Whereupon Will cleared his throat, squared his shoulders, and rumbling a
note or so to fix the key, burst into songful roar:
"A tanner I, a lusty man,
A tanner men call Will,
And being tanner true, I tan,
Would I were tanning still;
Ho derry, derry down,
Hey derry down,
Would I were tanning still."
"Aye, verily!" growled Sir Pertinax.
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