At last, after a long time had passed, the Cook drew a full, deep breath, as though of much regret, and wiped his hands upon the napkin, for he could eat no more. Little John, also, had enough, for he pushed the pasty aside, as though he would say, “I want thee by me no more, good friend.” Then he took the pottle of sack, and said he, “Now, good fellow, I swear by all that is bright, that thou art the stoutest companion at eating that ever I had. Lo! I drink thy health.” So saying, he clapped the flask to his lips and cast his eyes aloft, while the good wine flooded his throat. Then he passed the pottle to the Cook, who also said, “Lo, I drink thy health, sweet fellow!” Nor was he behind Little John in drinking any more than in eating.
“Now,” quoth Little John, “thy voice is right round and sweet, jolly lad. I doubt not thou canst sing a ballad most blithely; canst thou not?”
“Truly, I have trolled one now and then,” quoth the Cook, “yet I would not sing alone.”
“Nay, truly,” said Little John, “that were but ill courtesy. Strike up thy ditty, and I will afterward sing one to match it, if I can.
“So be it, pretty boy,” quoth the Cook. “And hast thou e’er heard the song of the Deserted Shepherdess?”
“Truly, I know not,” answered Little John, “but sing thou and let me hear.”