University of Virginia Library

Scene VII.

To them
Marian.
Your Hunt holds in his tale, still; and tells more!

Mar.
My Hunt? what tale?

Rob.
How! cloudie, Marian!
What looke is this?

Mar.
A fit one, Sir, for you.
To Scathlock.
Hand off rude Ranger! Sirrah, get you in
And beare the Venison hence. It is too good
For these course rustick mouthes that cannot open,
Or spend a thanke for't. A starv'd Muttons carkasse
Would better fit their palates. See it carried
To Mother Maudlins, whom you call the Witch, Sir.
Tell her I sent it to make merrie with,
Shee'll turne us thanks at least! why stand'st thou, Groome?

Rob.
I wonder he can move! that hee's not fix'd!
If that his feeling be the same with mine!
I dare not trust the faith of mine owne senses.
I feare mine eyes, and eares! this is not Marian!
Nor am I Robin-hood! I pray you aske her!
Aske her good Shep'ards! aske her all for me;
Or rather aske your selves, if shee be shee;
Or I, be I.

Mar.
Yes, and you are the spie:
And the spi'd Spie, that watch upon my walkes,
To informe what Deere I kill, or give away!
Where! when! to whom! but spie your worst, good Spie!
I will dispose of this where least you like!
Fall to your cheese-cakes, curdes, and clawted creame,
Your fooles, your flaunes; and of ale a streame
To wash it from your livers: straine ewes milke
Into your Cider sillabubs, and be drunke
To him, whose Fleece hath brought the earliest Lambe
This yeare; and weares the Baudrick at your bord!
Where you may all goe whistle; and record
This i' your dance: and foot it lustily.

Shee leaves them.
Rob.
I pray you friends, doe you heare? and see, as I doe?
Did the same accents strike your eares? and objects?
Your eyes, as mine?

Alk.
Wee taste the same reproches!

Lio.
Have seen the changes!

Rob.
Are wee not all chang'd,
Transformed from our selves?

Lio.
I do not know!
The best is silence!

Alk.
And to await the issue.

Rob.
The dead, or lazie wait for't: I will find it.