"Come, we are melancholy," said Tomlinson, tossing off a bumper. "Methinks we are really growing old: we shall repent soon, and the next step will be—hanging!"
"Fore Gad!" said Ned, helping himself, "don't be so croaking. There are two classes of maligned gentry, who should always be particular to avoid certain colours in dressing: I hate to see a true boy in black, or a devil in blue. But here's my last glass to-night! I am confoundedly sleepy, and we rise early to-morrow."
"Right, Ned," said Tomlinson; "give us a song before you retire, and let it be that one which Lovett composed the last time we were here."
Ned, always pleased with an opportunity of displaying himself, cleared his voice and complied.
A Ditty from Sherwood.
I.
In the wild wood-life there is better cheer;
Would you hoard your mirth from your neighbour's malice,
