University of Virginia Library

Scene IV.

THE EXTERIOR OF THE KING'S PALACE.
Enter, cautiously, Friar Tuck and his pals, on a party of plunder.
Tuck.
I can't stand this! I'm hungry!

Hal.
So's this child!
The state of the interior's getting wild.

Tuck.
This mortal day we've spent in fruitless forage.

Clare.
Without a mouldy crust, or scrape of porridge.

Tuck.
We're in a scrape, lads; something must be done;
This dog of mine keeps howling for a bone.
“For, I have that within, which passeth show,—”

Hal.
Can't say that I have. Mine's gone, long ago.

Clare.
I've been so long without, that this I know,—
I'm croaking, now,—within an ace or so.

Tuck.
Animal spirits cannot stand their ground
With beef-steaks at eleven-pence a pound.
As for Long Parliaments, an' th'Commonweal,—
Short commons are too long. I'm longing for a meal.

Clare.
A pound o' steaks would come in weel for me.

Hal.
We've no stake in the country, that I see.

Tuck.
Lads; it's no joke. I'm not much used to famine;
I can't stand gammon when I'm short of gammon.
We've had one famine,—borne beyond belief;
And ne'er such famine met with such relief.
I must have something to maintain my prowess,—
Black-puddings, lobscouse, tripe, or Owdham brewis!
It's getting too bad!


This life, on my soul,
Will not do for me;
I don't like a hole
Where dinner should be.

Clare.
Not me!

Hal.
Nor me!
I don't like a hole
Where dinner should be.
A fig for the house
That's hungry and dry;
Where every mouse
Has tears in his eye.

Clare.
His eye!

Hal.
His eye!
Where every mouse
Has tears in his eye!

Clare.
Tuck; here's the palace! Let's get in! We'll try.
Knock; and see what the porter's like, old boy.

Tuck.
All right, my lad; all right! Leave that to me!
If he comes out,—I'll take him in,—you'll see.
(Tuck knocks at the King's portal.)
Hollo!

Gruff.
Who's theer? Dost want to knock it deawn?

Tuck.
How go? I thought I'd call, whilst I'm in town.

Gruff.
Who is't?

Tuck.
It's Jemmy. Come out, an' thae'll see.

Gruff.
O' reet! aw'll come.

(As Gruff slips out the outlaws slip in, and secure a cheap breakfast).
Tuck.
That's so much worse for thee.

Gruff.
(Looks at Tuck.)
Let's see. Aw connot recollect. My mem'ry's bad.

Tuck.
Aw getten owder, sin aw wur a lad.
Thae knows owd Roddle?

Gruff.
Roddle! Sure; aw do!

Tuck.
Then, sit tho deawn; an' dunnot be a foo.
Let's have a wag! How arto gettin' on?
Thae doesn't look so weel. Here; sup, owd mon!

Gruff.
Well, come; here's luck!

Tuck.
Here's th'same to thee! Cheer up!
Tak howd again, owd brid! Thae doesn't sup.

Air—“Rich Red Wine.”—Friar Tuck.
Come, sup this, lad—'twill do you good,
And cheer you more nor water;
You'll find it good—both drink and food;
It licks prime bottled porter.
'Twill make your spirits light and glad,
So pour it down your throttle;
There's nowt gives one the dumps so bad
As an ugly empty bottle.
Come, sup this, lad, and don't be sad;
Drinking makes the heart feel glad;
So, drink it up,—drain the cup,—that's reet, owd lad.

CHORUS.


Heaw arto gettin on, owd lad?

Gruff
(muddled).
O'reet.

Tuck.
Here; sup again. It's thy turn.

Gruff.
(Sings.)
I'm a bottled porter!

Tuck
(Aside).
Thae will be directly, owd lad!

Gruff.
(Sings.)
I'm a man of mettle!

Tuck.
Nought else, owd lad! Thae'rt gettin' quite a-wag!

Gruff
(being screwy).
Aw mun go back, or aw's be gettin' th'bag.

Tuck.
Now; thae'll remember what aw said?

Gruff.
O' reet!

Tuck.
Aw'll tell 'em that aw've sin tho.

Gruff.
Do! Good neet!

(Gruff retires, and closes the gate after him.)
Enter, hastily, Sir Brian de Bull-beef, Daisy de Bull-beef, and suite. They knock at the gate.
Sir Brian.
Hollo! Porter! Hollo! The knave's asleep!

Gruff.
Aw'm comin'! What a racket thae does keep!
Who's theer?

[Grand flourish heard.
Enter Sir Loin de Porc and attendants.
Sir Loin de Porc.
The king! The king! Stand back!
Make way, my men!

(Pushes Tuck out of the way.)
Tuck.
Aw say; owd crayter! Don't do that again!

Enter, in grand procession, the King, the Court, the Grand Officers (Civil and Military), Heads of Departments, Heads without Departments, &c., &c.
(They all salute the King in a manner peculiar to the period.)
Sir Loin.
Silence!

King.
My lords and gentlemen,—Once more we're here,
To take stock o' the state another year.
So, let's to business. Don't look melancholy.
I'll cut it short. And then,—we'll all be jolly.
I know you fellows well; and, you're all right,—
Though none of you, I doubt, are over bright.
There are complaints i'th land; but that's a sell!
So, never mind! I'm glad to see you well.
They say we've suffered from the want of cotton;
They say there's something in the state that's rotten.

Sir Loin.
I can't see what folks have to grumble at.

King.
But, some of you, no doubt, will see to that.

Sir Loin.
As for Reform—

King.
Why; if you've any wit,
You'll try, once more, to dodge the thing a bit.
You own the lands; and, if you let folks rent 'em,
I don't see why you shouldn't represent 'em.
They, perhaps, may raise a little brief hubbub;
But, wait. They'll soon get tired. Then; let 'em rub!
So much for that. No more of this and tother!
Let's have a smoke; and let's have no more bother.
I think, at home, we're stunning,—on the whole,—
And need no change; I do,—upon my soul!
And, as for things abroad,—it's thus, d'ye see,—
Our foreign minister's upon the spree;
So, let that drop, just now. By next October,
It's possible he may be getting sober.
But, for the present,—all in all connected,—
We're quite as well as can be well expected.
Then, let's be jolly! Sheriff; what's the news?
Old boy; you look as if you'd got the blues.

Sir Brian.
My liege; if't please you,—hear my sad complaint!

Daisy.
It really is enough to vex a saint;

Sir Brian.
And, I'm no saint, although so much embarassed.
By Robin Hood, my liege, I'm sorely harassed.
If't please my lord,—

Daisy.
Sire; Robin's not to blame.
Miss Marian carries on this little game

Sir Brian.
My liege,—

King.
Come, come; I see something's amiss;
Don't make a row; and I'll look into this.
Lead on!

Enter, the Royal Charger. His Majesty mounts, and proceeds on his journey, accompanied by all the Court, and appropriate triumphal music and song.
Air—“The Galloping Snob.”
Daisy.
Papa, when I'm mounted upon my cob,
On my cob, on my cob,

Sir Brian.
The people will think of the galloping snob
In “Rotten Row” so famed.

Daisy.
For as we go prancing through Sherwood ho!
Sherwood ho! Sherwood ho!

Sir Brian.
To the King I'll stick, there's no knowing, you know,
What luck there may befal

Daisy.
To cut that Marian out,
Her schemes put to the rout.
I'll let her see that to cross me
Is to feel the nails of a “Tabby she.”
Chorus.—Cantering full swing
Ring a ding a ring,
The people will say, “there goes the court,
The glittering court, to Sherwood O.”

Sir Loin.
The business we have is very queer,
Very queer, very queer;
We'd better supply ourselves with beer,
Allsop's bitter beer.

Sir Loin.
The Sheriff he has petitioned us,
'Titioned, 'titioned us;
So we'd better proceed without a fuss,
Proceed without a fuss.

Chorus.—Cantering full swing, &c.