If you walk the country lanes of Wiltshire, you may find yourself in the company of a bent old man with bright eyes and a weathered face. He will offer to show you the hidden byways of the county that few can see, and to tell you the true names of the trees and the flowers and the birds which will enable you to control them. If you ask him his name, he will tell you that it is Lob, or Lob-lie-by-the-fire or Jack Cade, Jack Smith, Jack Moon, poor Jack of every trade, Young Jack, or old Jack, or Jack What-d’ye-call, Jack-in-the-hedge, or Robin-run-by-the-wall, Robin Hood, Ragged Robin, or lazy Bob.
And he will laugh, and his merry eyes will twinkle.
Decline his offer. He has many names, many, many names.. You may know some of them, and others belong to civilisations long lost to history, and buried in the sands. He buried some of them.
Do not tell him your own name.
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