Now bills and bows I and out a-gate!
And turn about on the lily lea!
And though their company be great
The grey-goose wing shall set us free.
Now bent is the bow in the green abode
And the king's writ knoweth not the road.

So over the mead and over the hithe,
And away to the wild-wood wend we forth;
There dwell we yeomen bold and blithe
Where the Sheriff's word is nought of worth.
Bent is the bow on the lily lea
Betwixt the thorn and the oaken tree.

But here the song dropped suddenly, and one of the men held up his
hand as who would say, Hist! Then through the open window came the
sound of another song, gradually swelling as though sung by men on the
march. This time the melody was a piece of the plain-song of the
church, familiar enough to me to bring back to my mind the great
arches of some cathedral in France and the canons singing in the
choir.

All leapt up and hurried to take their bows from wall and corner; and
some had bucklers withal, circles of leather, boiled and then moulded
into shape and hardened: these were some two hand-breadths across,
with iron or brass bosses in the centre. Will Green went to the
corner where the bills leaned against the wall and handed them round
to the first-comers as far as they would go, and out we all went
gravely and quietly into the village street and the fair sunlight of
the calm afternoon, now beginning to turn towards evening. None had