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"Take off your dogs, Friar Tuck!" shouted Will Scarlet, who had but then run up, and who now stood laughing heartily at the scene. "Friar Tuck!" exclaimed Robin, astounded. "Are you Friar Tuck? Then am I your friend, for you are he I came to seek." "I am but a poor anchorite, a curtall friar," said the other, whistling to his pack, "by name Friar Tuck of Fountain's Dale.
In truth Robin could well marvel at the speech, for the voices were curiously alike. Presently the willows parted on the other bank, and Robin could hardly forebear laughing out right. His mystery was explained. It was not two men who had done all this singing and talking, but one and that one a stout curtall friar who wore a long cloak over his portly frame, tied with a cord in the middle.
"There lives a curtall friar in Fountain's Abbey Tuck, by name who can beat both him and you," he said. Robin pricked up his ears at this free speech. "By our Lady," he said, "I'll neither eat nor drink till I see this same friar." And with his usual impetuosity he at once set about arming himself for the adventure. On his head he placed a cap of steel.
"What is it?" said the other. "Give me leave to set my horn to my mouth and blow three blasts thereon." "That will I do," said the curtall friar, "blow till your breath fails, an it please you." Then, says the old ballad, Robin Hood set his horn to mouth and blew mighty blasts; and half a hundred yeomen, bows bent, came raking over the lee.
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