"Tushe, Sir John," quoth his wife, "why should you frett or frowne? You shall ne'er be att no charges for mee; 50 For I will turne and trim up my old russet gowne, With everye thing else as fine as may bee; And on our mill-horses swift we will ride, With pillowes and pannells, as we shall provide."
In this most statelye sort, rode they unto the court; 55 Their jolly sonne Richard rode foremost of all, Who set up, for good hap, a cocks feather in his cap,[L57] And so they jetted downe to the kings hall; The merry old miller with hands on his side; His wife like maid Marian did mince at that tide.[L60] 60
The king and his nobles, that heard of their coming, Meeting this gallant knight with his brave traine, "Welcome, sir knight," quoth he, "with your gay lady; Good Sir John Cockle, once welcome againe; And so is the squire of courage soe free." 65 Quoth Dicke, "A bots on you! do you know mee?"
Quoth our king gentlye, "How should I forget thee? That wast my owne bed-fellowe, well it I wot." "Yea, sir," quoth Richard, "and by the same token, Thou with thy farting didst make the bed hot." 70 "Thou whore-son unhappy knave," then quoth the knight, "Speake cleanly to our king, or else go sh***."
The king and his courtiers laugh at this heartily, While the king taketh them both by the hand; With the court-dames and maids, like to the queen of spades, 75 The millers wife did soe orderly stand, A milk-maids courtesye at every word; And downe all the folkes were set to the board.
There the king royally, in princelye majestye, Sate at his dinner with joy and delight; 80 When they had eaten well, then he to jesting fell, And in a bowle of wine dranke to the knight: "Here's to you both, in wine, ale, and beer; Thanking you heartilye for my good cheer."
Quoth Sir John Cockle, "I'll pledge you a pottle, 85 Were it the best ale in Nottinghamshire:" But then said our king, "Now I think of a thing; Some of your lightfoote I would we had here." "Ho! ho!" quoth Richard, "full well I may say it 'Tis knavery to eate it, and then to betray it." 90
"Why art thou angry?" quoth our king merrilye; "In faith, I take it now very unkind: I thought thou wouldst pledge me in ale and wine heartily." Quoth Dicke, "You are like to stay till I have din'd: You feed us with twatling dishes soe small; 95 Zounds, a blacke-pudding is better than all."