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A roar of delight from his audience, with stamping of feet and beating of black-jacks against the ground, showed how thoroughly the song was to their taste, while John modestly retired into a quart pot, which he drained in four giant gulps. 'I sang that ditty in Hordle ale-house ere I ever thought to be an archer myself,' quoth he.

'Fill up your stoups!' cried Black Simon, thrusting his own goblet into the open hogshead in front of him. 'Here is a last cup to the White Company, and every brave boy who walks behind the roses of Loring!'

'To the wood, the flax, and the gander's wing!' said an old grey-headed archer on the right.

'To a gentle loose, and the King of Spain for a mark at fourteen score!' cried another.