University of Virginia Library

SCEANE. III.

Enter, calling the Frier, as afore.
Ioh.
The Frier, the Frier?

Scath.
Why, where's this Frier?

Fri.
Here sir. what is your desire?

Enter Robin Hoode.
Rob.
Why Frier, what a murren dost thou meane?
The King cals for thee. For, a mightie stagge,
(That hath a copper ring about his necke,
With letters on it, which hee would haue read)
Hath Scarlet kild. I pray thee goe thy way.

Fri.
Master I will, no longer will I stay.

Exit.
Rob.
Good vnkle be more carefull of your health,
And you sir Doncaster, your wounds are greene.

Both.
Through your great kindnes, we are cōforted.

Rob.
And Warman, I aduise you to more mirth.
Shun solitary walkes, keepe company,
Forget your fault: I haue forgiuen the fault.
Good Warman be more blithe, and at this time,
A little helpe my Marian and her maide:
Much shall come to you straight: a little now,
We must al striue to doe the best we may.

Exit, winding.
War.
On you and her Ile waite, vntill my dying day.

Exeunt, and as they are going out, Doncaster puls Warman.
Don.
Warman a word. My good Lord Prior and I
Are full of griefe, to see thy misery.

War.
My misery, sir Doncaster? why? I thanke God,
I neuer was in better state than now.

Pri.
Why, what a seruile slauish minde hast thou?
Art thou a man, and canst be such a beast,
Asse-like to beare the burthen of thy wrong?

War.
What wrong haue I? Ist wrong to be relieu'd?

Don.
Relieu'd saist thou?
Why, shallow witted foole,
Dost thou not see Robins ambitious pride?
And how he clymes by pittying, and aspires,
By humble lookes, good deedes, and such fond toyes,
To be a monarch, raigning ouer vs,
As if wee were the vassals to his will?

War.
I am his vassall, and I will be still.

Pri.
Warman, thou art a foole. I doe confesse,
Were these good deedes done in sinceritie,
Pittie of minde, thine or this knights distresse,
Without vaine brags, it were true charitie:
But to relieue our fainting bodies wants,
And grieue our soules with quippes, and bitter braids,
Is good turnes ouerturnd: no thanks wee owe
To any, whatsoeuer helps vs so.

War.
Neither himselfe, nor any that hee keepes,
Euer vpbraided mee, since I came last.

Don.
O God haue mercie on thee, silly asse.
Doth he not say to euery guest that comes;
This same is Warman, that was once my steward?

War.
And what of that?

Pri.
Ist not as much to say;
Why, here he stands that once did mee betray.

Don.
Did hee not bring a troope to grace himselfe,
Like Captiues waiting on a conquerours chaire,
And calling of them out, by one and one,
Presented them, like fairings, to the king?

Pri.
O, I: there was a rare inuention:
A plague vpon the foole.
I hate him worse for that than all the rest.

War.
Why should you hate him? why should you or you
Enuie this noble Lord, thus as you doe?

Don.
Nay rather, why dost thou not ioyne in hate
With vs, that lately liu'dst like vs, in wealthy state?
Remember this, remember foolish man,
How thou hast bene the Shrieue of Notingham.

Pri.
Cry to thy thoughts, let this thought neuer cease,
I haue bene Iustice of my Soueraignes peace,
Lord of faire liuings: men with cap and knee,
In liueries waited howerly on mee.

Don.
And when thou thinkst, thou hast bene such & such,
Thinke then what tis to be a mate to Much,
To runne when Robin bids, come at his call,
Be mistresse Marians man.

Pri.
Nay thinke withall

War.
What shall I thinke? but thinke vpon my need,
When men fed dogs, and me they would not feede:
When I despaird through want, and sought to die,
My pitious master, of his charitie,
Forgaue my fault, relieu'd and saued mee:
This doe I thinke vpon, and you should thinke
(If you had hope of soules saluation)
First Prior, that he is of thy flesh and bloode,
That thou art vnkle vnto Robin Hoode:
That by extortion thou didst get his lands:
God, and I know how it came to thy hands:
How thou pursu'dst him in his misery,
And how heauen plagu'd thy hearts extreamitie:
Thinke Doncaster, when, hired by this Prior,
Thou cam'st to take my master with the Frier,
And wert thy selfe tane, how he set thee free,
Gaue thee an hundred pound to comfort thee,
And both bethinke yee how but yesterday,
Wounded and naked in the fielde you lay,
How with his owne hand he did raise your heads,
Powrd balme into your wounds, your bodies fed,
Watcht when yee slept, wept when he sawe your woe,

Don.
Stay Warman, stay: I graunt that he did so,
And you, turnd honest, haue forsworne the villaine?

War.
Euen from my soule, I villany defie.

Pri.
A blessed hower: a fit time now to die:

Don.
And you shall, Conscience.

Stab him, he fals.
War.
O forgiue mee, God,
And saue my master from their bloodie hands.

Pri.
What, hast thou made him sure?

Don.
Its deade sure: he is dead, if that be sure.

Pri.
Then let vs thrust the dagger in his hand,
And when the next comes, cry he kild himselfe.

Don.
That must be now: yonder comes Robin Hood.
No life in him.

Pri.
No, no, not any life.
Three mortall wounds haue let in piercing ayre,
And at their gaps, his life is cleane let out.

Rob.
Who is it vncle that you so bemone?

Pri.
Warman, good nephew, whom sir Doncaster & I
Found freshly bleeding, as he now doth lye.
You were scarce gone, when he did stab himselfe.

Ro.
O God, he in his own hand houlds his own harts hurt,
I dreaded too much his distressed looke:
Belike the wretch despaird, and slewe himselfe.

Don.
Nay, thats most sure, yet he had little reason,
Considering how well you vsed him.

Rob.
Well, I am sorie; but must not be sad,
Because the King is comming to my bower.
Helpe mee, I pray thee, to remooue his bodie,
Least he should come and see him murdered.
Sometime anone he shall be buried.

Exit.
Pri.
Good, all is good: this is as I desire.
Now for a face of pure hypocrisie:
Sweete murder, cloath thee in religious weedes,
Raigne in my bosome, that with helpe of thee,
I may effect this Robins Tragedie.

Enter Robin, Doncaster.
Do.
Nay, nay, you must not take this thing so heauily.

Rob.
A bodies losse, sir Doncaster, is much:
But a soules too, is more to be bemon'd.

Pri.
Truly I wonder at your vertuous minde:
O God to one so kinde, who'ud be vnkinde!
Let goe this griefe, now must you put on ioy,
And for the many fauours I haue found,
So much exceeding all conceipt of mine,
Unto your cheere, Ile adde a pretious drinke,
Of colour rich, and red, sent mee from Rome.
There's in it Moly, Syrian Balsamum,
Golds rich Elixer: O tis pretious!

Rob.
Where is it vncle?

Pri.
As yesterday,
Sir Doncaster and I rid on our way,
Theeues did beset vs, bound vs as you saw:
And among other things, did take from mee,
This rich confection: but regardlesly,
As common drinke, they cast, into a bush,
The bottle, which this day sir Doncaster
Fetcht, and hath left it in the inner lodging:
I tell you cosin (I doe loue you well)
A pint of this ransomde the Sophies sonne,
When he was taken in Natolia.
I meant indeede to giue it my liege Lord,
In hope to haue his fauour: but to you
I put my selfe, be my good friend,
And, in your owne restoring, mee restore.

Rob.
Unkle I will, you neede vrge that no more.
But whats the vertues of this pretious drinke?

Pri.
It keepes fresh youth, restores diseased sight,
Helps natures weakenesse, smothes the scars of woūds,
And cooles the intrals with a balmie breath,
When they by thirst or trauell boyle with heate.

Rob.
Unkle I thanke you, pray you let me haue
A cuppe prepared, gainst the king comes in,
To coole his heate: my selfe will giue it him.

Pri.
And when he drinkes, be bold to say he drinkes
A richer draught than that dissolued pearle,
Which Cleopatra dranke to Antonie.

Rob.
I haue much businesse; let it be your charge,
To make this rich draught readie for the King,
And I will quit it, pray yee doe not faile.

Exit.
Pri.
I warrant you, good Nephew.

Don.
Better, and better still.
We thought before but to haue poysend him,
And now shall Robin Hoode destroy the king.
Euen when the King, ye Queene the Prince, the Lords
Ioy in his vertues, this supposed vice
Will turne, to sharpe hate, their exceeding loue.

Pri.
Ha, ha, ha, I cannot chuse but laugh,
To see my cosin cosend in this sort.
Faile him quoth you? nay hang mee if I doe.
But Doncaster art sure the poysons are well mixt?

Don.
Tut, tut, let me alone for poysoning:
I haue alreadie turnd ore foure, or fiue,
That angerd mee. But tell mee Prior,
Wherefore so deadly dost thou hate thy cosin?

Pri.
Shall I be plaine? Because if he were deade,
I should be made the Earle of Huntington.

Don.
A prettie cause: But thou a church-man art.

Pri.
Tut man, if that would fall,
Ile haue a dispensation, and turne temporall.
But tell mee Doncaster, why dost thou hate him?

Don.
By the Masse, I cannot tel. O yes, now I ha't.
I hate thy cousin, Earle of Huntington,
Because so many loue him as there doe,
And I my selfe am loued of so fewe.
Nay, I haue other reasons for my hate;
Hee is a foole, and will be reconcilde,
To anie foe hee hath: he is too milde,
Too honest for this world, fitter for heauen:
Hee will not kill these greedie cormorants,
Nor strippe base pesants of the wealth they haue:
He does abuse a thieues name and an outlawes,
And is indeede no outlawe, nor no theefe,
He is vnworthy of such reuerent names.
Besides, he keepes a paltry whinling girle,
And will not bed, forsooth, before he bride:
Ile stand too't, he abuses maidenhead,
That will not take it, being offered:
Hinders the common wealth of able men.
Another thing I hate him for againe:
He saies his praiers, fasts eues, giues alms, does good:
For these and such like crimes, sweares Doncaster,
To worke the speedie death of Robin Hoode.

Pri,
Well said yfaith. Harke, hark, the king returns:
To doe this deede, my heart like fuel burns.

Exeunt.