Fair words brother, I think, and yet a little sad. 'But,' says you in vasty
amaze, 'my very noble and right potent Sir Robert,' says you, 'if thou
art indeed noble knight, wherefore go ye devoid of mail, surcoat, cyclas,
crested helm, banderol, lance, shield and the like pomps and gauds?'
'Brother,' says I, 'habit is habit and habit sticketh habitual, and my
habit is to go habited as suiteth my habit, suiting habit o' body to habit
o' mind.' Thus I, though Sir Robert, am Robin still, and go in soft leather
'stead of chafing steel, and my rogues, loving Robin, love Sir Robert the
better therefor, as sayeth my song in fashion apt and pertinent:
"Since habit is habit, my habit hath been
To wear habit habitually comely--
Ha, there soundeth the mustering note, so must we away and I sing no
further, which is well, for 'comely' is an ill word to rhyme with. Howbeit
here must I, beginning my song o' Robin, of beginning must Rob make an end,
for duty calleth Sir Robert, so must Robin away."
Hereupon he clapped horn to lip at which shrill summons came archers and
pikemen ranked very orderly about a fair horse-litter.
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