With a tale forsooth he cometh unto you, with a tale which
holdeth children from play, and old men read more

With a tale forsooth he cometh unto you, with a tale which
holdeth children from play, and old men from the chimney corner.

In this spacious isle I think there is not one
But he hath heard some talk of Hood and read more

In this spacious isle I think there is not one
But he hath heard some talk of Hood and Little John,
Of Tuck, the merry friar, which many a sermon made
In praise of Robin Hood, his outlaws, and their trade.

His eye begets occasion for his wit;
For every object that the one doth catch
The other read more

His eye begets occasion for his wit;
For every object that the one doth catch
The other turns to a mirth-moving jest,
Which his fair tongue, conceit's expositor,
Delivers in such apt and gracious words,
That aged ears play truant at his tales,
And younger hearings are quite ravished,
So sweet and voluble is his discourse.

But that's another story.

But that's another story.

When thou dost tell another's jest, therein
Omit the oaths, which true wit cannot need;
Pick out read more

When thou dost tell another's jest, therein
Omit the oaths, which true wit cannot need;
Pick out of tales the mirth, but not the sin.

In vain would I seek to discover
Why sad and mournful am I,
My thoughts without ceasing read more

In vain would I seek to discover
Why sad and mournful am I,
My thoughts without ceasing brood over
A tale of the time gone by.
[Ger., Ich weiss nicht was soll es bedeuten,
Dass ich so traurig bin:
Ein marchen aus alten Zeiten
Das kommt mir nicht aus dem Sinn.]

This story will never go down.

This story will never go down.

A story, in which native humour reigns,
Is often useful, always entertains;
A graver fact, enlisted on read more

A story, in which native humour reigns,
Is often useful, always entertains;
A graver fact, enlisted on your side,
May furnish illustration, well applied;
But sedentary weavers of long tales
Give me the fidgets, and my patience fails.

But that I am forbid
To tell the secrets of my prison house,
I could a tale read more

But that I am forbid
To tell the secrets of my prison house,
I could a tale unfold whose lightest word
Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood,
Make thy two eyes like stars start from their spheres,
Thy knotted and combined locks to part,
And each particular hair to stand on end
Like quills upon the fretful porpentine.