The sergeant was immediately admitted to the royal
presence, and on the close of his marvellous story the king, who had
worked himself into a tremendous fury during its relation, roared out,
"What! foiled again? ha! But he shall not escape, if I have to root up half
the trees in the forest. Bouchier and his fellows must be bewitched.
Harkye, knaves: get together a dozen of the best woodmen and yeomen
in the castle--instantly, as you value your lives; bid them bring axe and
saw, pick and spade. D'ye mark me? ha! Stay, I have not done. I must
have fagots and straw, for I will burn this tree to the ground--burn it to a
char. Summon the Dukes of Suffolk and Norfolk--the rascal archer I
dubbed the Duke of Shoreditch and his mates--the keepers of the forest
and their hounds--summon them quickly, and bid a band of the yeomen
of the guard get ready." And he sprang from his couch.
The king's commands were executed with such alacrity, that by the
time he was fully attired the whole of the persons he had ordered to he
summoned were assembled. Putting himself at their head, he rode
forth to the home park, and found Bouchier and his followers grouped
around the tree.
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