University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE a Grove, with an Altar.
Earine, Marian, Amie, and Mellifleur kneeling at the Altar. Earine rises.
Ear.
Thanks! thanks! good Marian! and like me, pure maids!
Such fervent prayers sure will not be in vain.
[The rest rise.
But, to leave nought untried, as Reuben bade,
In hymns and carols pour we praises forth,
And wooe with melody the heavenly throne!

Maudlin and Douce enter.
Maud.
O haly man! blest hermit! wi' what skill
Hast thou remov'd the vip'rous pangs I felt!
Lead me, my Douce, unto the altar's foot;
That I may thank my God, as Reuben bade.

Ear.
Ha! hither bends the canker'd beldam, Maud!
From whose brute son I bu erewhile escap'd—
Haste! fly! or we shall quick be made her thralls.

Dou.
Fear naething, damsel! for my mother's chang'd;
Is hither come to praise the gracious Gods,
And crave forgi'ness for her wrangs to thee.
Mysel am alter'd tu; late Douce the proud;
But now as humble as the lowliest shrub
That bends to heav'n's least breath! this dainty dress,
Yer festal garment, I sal strait restore,
Which by my mother's hest till now I wore;
In russet gown and kirtle hence array'd,
I's prove a meek and gentle rural maid.

Maud.
Forgi' me, virgin! I ha' lang been naught;
And for my ill deeds on my knees am brought.
Forgi' me, virgin! and I's henceforth be
As gud, as I till now was ill to thee!

Ear.
And art thou alter'd, Maudlin? if thour't good,
By that same art enthrall'd me in the wood,
Oh, raise my love, my Æglamour from death!
Your potency can do it with a breath.
Yonder he lies, within the hermit's cell;
Restore my love, and all things shall be well!

Maud.
That is already done.

Clarion enters.
Clar.
Where, where's the maid,
Earine? to Æglamour strait fly—
He breathes; pronounc'd your name; haste! to him haste!
Convince the still-craz'd shepherd you're alive;
Or, in despair, on self-destruction bent,
Again he'll seek you in the silver Trent.

Ear.
Does he then live? and is my love still true?
Lead, lead me, maidens! come, good Marian, too!
Now all is harmony! above, around!
My shepherd lives! our loves shall now be crown'd!

Clarion, Douce, and Maudlin remain.
Clar.
Why do not I to Æglamour return?
What holds me here? with what strange fire I burn!
Sure I was blind till now, or now am so—
Yon maid has pass'd before me to and fro
Oft times to-day, and never mark'd before,
But that full proudly still herself she bore:
Sure I mistook—she seems a courteous maid—
Should I accost her, and with scorn be paid,
'Twould grieve me much; but hence with idle fear!
Her kneeling mother left intention prayer,
She this way bends—how fares the gentle Douce?

Dou.
Ca' ye me sae in scorn? gud shepherd, truce
Wi' sic keen gibes for that I erst was proud,
Nor interrupt devotion; ye're o'er loud:
See ye not, swain, my mother kneeling there,
Wi' upturn'd eyne, devoutly in her pray'r?

Clar.
I do, dear Douce! and I would kneel to thee,
Did I not fear, you'd scorn my suit and me.

Dou.
What suit can Clarion ha' to lowly Douce?
Rich swains ne'er wooe poor maids, but to seduce!

Clar.
True I am rich as any shepherd round;
But let not that my honest suit confound.
'Tis true I own those fertile vallies green,
And thymy downs, where herds and flocks are seen
In countless numbers, mine; by heedful hinds
Led to the pastures proper for their kinds;
Their milk made cheese, their snowy fleeces shorn,
And to the neighb'ring market duly born,
Get me returns of all such town-made geer,
As in my farm are needful; or appear
To deck and trim my scarcely-equall'd cot;
Good store of coin besides in chest I have got:
True I were rich as any shepherd-swain,
If gentle Douce's love I might obtain.

Dou.
What are yer fields, yer flocks, yer cot, yer coin
To me, rich swain? had ye o' gold a mine,
Sae far fra tempting, it would make me fear
A simple wench might buy e'en gold o'er dear.

Clar.
But, pretty maid! did Clarion fairly wooe,
Proffer to wed, and promise to be true;
Had Douce no other shepherd in her thought,
And Clarion she to like perchance were brought,
No more ought she object his plenteous store,
Than he doth Douce's state, tho' e'er so poor.

Dou.
It gars me blush to answer! but 'tis truth,
I ne'er set eyne upon a comelier youth;
Nae other shepherd i' my heart hath place;
Yet I'm na' smitten wi' yer handsome face,
Nae mair than wi' yer wealth; yer speech has most
My pleas'd attention (for 'tis sooth) engrost—
It shews ye honest, kind, and like to prove,
Where e'er ye wooe, still constant i' yer love.
My mother comes—gif ye indeed mean sooth,
Tell her yer tale, her mind is turn'd to reuth.

Clar.
Thanks, gentle Douce! this unaffected leave,
(Sure sign of an ingenuous mind) believe,
Makes me the happiest shepherd o' the green!

Maud.
How am I chang'd fra what o'erlang I ha' been!
The wicked fiend possess'd my soul is fled,
And a' my thoughts are turn'd to God and gud!
I ha' scap'd the thralldom o' the prince o' hell,
To whom for aye I had near sold mysel!
Nae mair a witch, but a right honest dame;
And ilka one I meet sal ken the same.

Clar.
Good Maudlin, grant a boon, nor say me nay.

Maud,
Aught i' my gift, gud shepherd, ask and ha'.
But what can sic a poor and outcast wretch
Bestow on thee, stor'd swain?

Clar.
Thou art more rich!
Owning, in my mind, what o' ervalues all
That I, or wealthier swains, our own may call
Of herds, or flocks, or cot, or farm, or field;
With all the produce they their owners yield.
The charms thou canst bestow—

Maud.
Out, out, alas!
Nae mair in charms and spells do I surpass;
Nae mair will Maud engage in deeds sae dark—
Witchcraft, young shepherd, is the devil's wark!

Dou.
Gud mother, ye mistake th' well-meaning swain,
He does na' wish ye to turn witch again.

Clar.
O, no, good dame! forefend, high heaven, I shou'd!
My wishes, Maudlin, tend to nought but good;
Thine, thy fair daughter's, and in her's too mine:
She is the prize for which I throw my line!

Maud.
Speak plainer, shepherd, and wi' riddles truce.

Clar.
Then in plain terms, I love your daughter Douce.
Love reigns around! hill, dale, cot, greenwood-bower,
And their blithe tenants, own his sovereign power!
The birds all pair'd make vocal every grove,
While to his mate each chearful chaunts his love;
The willing ewes, and wanton rams around,
In sportive buttings frolick, mount, and bound;
The heifer feels love's fire, breathes short, and pants;
And to the steer his novel wishes grants:
Each shepherd late invited round Sherwood,
To the fam'd feast of jolly Robin Hood,
Hath chose his buxom bride, hath woo'd and sped,
Except myself—let it not, dame, be said,
Clarion alone return'd from thence unwed!

Maud.
Now I come near ye, and yer meaning take;
And gif ye'll wed my Douce, and ne'er forsake
Yer low-born bride for some mair high-bred lass,
But hand-in-hand still through life's journey pass,
I gi' ye my consent and blessing baith!
And, though ye are rich, for dower some fine-spun claith
Bleach'd white as chalky cliffs; some linsey stuff,
For winter coats and kirtles gud enough;
Wi' a few marks o' gold, I ha' sav'd wi' care:
This will I gi', and wish that it were mair.

Clar.
Talk not of dower, good mother, geer nor gold;
The truest love is neither bought or sold!
I have enough for both, nor wish that she
Should bring or goods or coin for wedding fee;
Bless'd with her love, why need I covet more,
And take thy mite t'increase my boundless store?
Rather of me receive the means of life,
In gratitude for yielding Douce my wife;
With every filial duty and respect,
To shield thy age from want, and rude neglect!

[Exeunt.
The SCENE changes to another part of the Grove.
Puck enters.
Puck.
How hard to keep frail life's near-fleeting breath
Within the bosom of the sad young swain;
Thinking Earine no longer lives
To crown his passion, and reward his love!
The holy hermit's prayers, and Maudlin's skill,
Assisted by the friendly shepherds' pains,
With every aid e'en I could minister,
Were scarce sufficient to re-animate
His death-like form, and cause the stream of life
Again to flow through his obstructed veins;
And, when reviv'd, all frantic for the loss
(The double loss he call'd it) of the maid
He hoped, by quitting life, to find in heaven,
How sudden his relapse to seeming death!
In which cold trance a second time he lies;
But safe from danger: for Earin's voice,
And touch, and breath, shall sweetly wooe and win
His willing soul, with transport to abide,
For her dear sake, soon as he knows she lives,
In his fond breast, to life's extremest date!
When she hath tried the force, and he hath felt
Th' effects (and they are great) of pow'rful love;
I will once more adminster what lies
In me, to perfect and confirm their bliss!
Meantime I will indulge my mirthful bent,
In whatsoever sportful theme occurs—
And lo! here comes rude Lorel, still my butt
Of waggery, and whom I joy to jeer.

Lorel enters.
Lor.
The bow-men say that Æglamour's restor'd!
And, 'stead of digging, as was bid, his grave,
Are sporting as they list around the cell—
Sma' comfort sic like news to Lorel gives!
Who hoped, his hated reuel being dead,
To ha' without control, Earine.

Puck.
What should she, trow, with such a clown as thee?
Thou have Earine! a swine-herd base
Of uncouth form, and scarcely human face!
With pent-house eye-brows, that together join;
Of sullen churlishness the certain sign:
A mouth distended e'en from ear to ear;
Eyes, 'stead of love, inspiring hate and fear!
Go, 'tend thy swine, nor think of such a maid,
Who e'en to look at thee is sore afraid.

Lor.
What fay-like elf are ye, that mock and flout!
Were ye Puck-hairy late? thus gay prank'd out.
Gif that ye were, (as by yer voice and face
Methinks it seems) and now a sprite o' grace,
Leave scorning, Robin! nor perplex me mair,
As whan my mother's simples hame I bare!
I'm sure 'twas ye that bay'd me like a wolf;
Then in my footway flamed a fiery gulph!
A night owl beat her pinions 'gainst my head,
'Till o' the ground I fell, wi' fright near dead!
Ye were that owl! and mair to gar me quake,
Ye twined around my legs like a scaled snake,
Which whan I graspt and strave to loose, strait turn'd
To red hot iron, and a' my fingers burn'd!

Puck.
True, lubber Lorel; and when thou didst spy
A will-o'-the-whisp, that meteor was I;
Which led thee in a quagmire to thy knees:
I can take any shape, thou know'st, I please.
When I was vassal to your mother, I
Could trace earth's utmost limits, now can fly
Beyond the starry sphere: whence in a thought
For the drown'd youth e'en now relief I brought;
My power is mightier than erst was Maud's!
Observe my silky wings! aërial gauds!
My coronal, compos'd of lucid beams
And flow'rets inter-twin'd! which well beseems
My Iris-robe, with stars and crescents bright
O'er-studded, darting round a silvery light!
This my garb now, 'stead of the shaggy vest,
Wherein Puck-hairy was uncouthly drest.
Thus chang'd from beldam Maudlin's slavish drudge,
Nor on vile errands longer forc'd to trudge,
A spirit pure! I now am prone to good;
The watchful guardian of this verdant wood!
Unto the virtuous a firm friend I'll be;
But, for thou'rt evil, a fear'd foe to thee!

Lor.
I prithee be not! and I's try to mend—
I'th 'stead o'harming, yer assistance lend,
I may reform; but canno' in a trice
Be chang'd a' o'er to gud fra long-lov'd vice!

Puck.
Deserve my favour, you shall favour find!
Go, shew your mother you're not far behind
Herself in reformation; glad her heart,
Which now in goodness takes an unus'd part:
Hence, and conduct her to the hermit's cell,
Whose reconcilement soon shall make all well.

Lor.
Troth, will I; wi' a score o'thanks to ye!
And for yer kindness ye sal ne'er lack fee!
Is gi'ye a plump porker, young and fat;
Or the tithe-pig, 'stead o'the priest, ye's get:
A brinded bulchin whan ye ask ye's ha';
Or a milch-kie ; gif ye're a gentle fay!
For curds and cream, and sic like belly geer,
Cheese, honey, wax, to want ye need na' fear;
I's gar my sister Douce set ye ilk e'en
Sic bowls o' milk for fairies yet ne'er seen;
Wi' flaunes and custards: and, for ye're sae smert,
Ne'er sal ye find the sma'est spot o' dirt,
To 'file yer rainbow-robe, and rigol bright,
Or ony gaud wi' whilk ye are bedight!

Puck.
Your meaning's good, therefore your offers please;
But think not I, as late, want bribes like these:
When I was Maudlin's hind, my appetites
Were nearly human, seeking gross delights;
And, for thy mother grudg'd me needful food,
After my daily labours for her good,
Instead of sleeping, which my stare then crav'd,
For milk and flour in neighbouring barns I slav'd
The live-long night; cut chaff, ground malt, thresh'd corn,
Till Lucifer arose, bright star of morn!
When, tir'd, upon the ember'd hearth I'd snore
Some little space, to renovate each pow'r:
Then, with cramm'd paunch, and cream-be-liquor'd throat,
Hie home, before the sluggard-rousing note
Of chanticleer bade shepherd-lads unfold
Their bleating flocks, and drive them to the wold;
Creep to my straw-pleach'd bed, thence seem to rise
Ere Maudlin quite had oped her ferret eyes.
These slaveries past, my essence pure regain'd,
(Polluting which poor Puck in grossness chain'd!)
I want nor flesh, nor flour, nor cakes, nor cream,
Nor aught whereon mistaken mortals dream
We fairies feed;—so, hence! while I attend
Invisible, and to the sad swain lend
Such help he yet may want; and quite restore
Unto Earine her Æglamour!

[Exeunt.
The SCENE changes to the entrance to Reuben's Cell.
Reuben, Robin Hood, Earine, Marian, &c. &c. attending Æglamour.
Ear.
So! gently! gently!—lay him on this bank
Of dark-hued violets, their perfum'd scent
Will make the breath my love again respires,
Sweet as was that for me so late he lost!
Oh, holy Sir! pardon a simple maid,
For thus directing, where command is thine.

Reu.
Gentle and good! fair, and full wise withal!
Needful it is to court each vagrant sense
With those delights, will tempt them to abide
In their frail mansion. With his slow-drawn breath,
Let scent of sweetest flowers be intermix'd;
Which, adding to the natural delight
Enjoy'd in breathing, may promote the act:
Clasp his hand, maid! in thine; quick from thy heart
Love's fire will haste, as quick communicate
A vital heat to every yet-chill vein:
Then shall his eye-lids ope like dawn of day;
Which to entice still further to disclose
Their casked jewels, set thy face in view,
To gaze on which each visual nerve they'll strain,
And like twin-suns full brightly shine again.
For one sweet sense, leave crav'd of modesty,
Apply thy lips bedew'd with nectarous balm
To his, as ruddy erst as now thy own;
So shall he, tasting what might banquet gods,
Heav'n for a while forego: to sooth each sense,
In softest strains of harmony, then wooe
His dull'd ear, deaf'ned by the waters' din;
And say, would it but once again attend,
Such notes await grim death himself might list;
The sweetest notes of lov'd Earin's voice.
Lord of the greenwood bower! bid music sound.

Rob.
Sound, softly sound the sweet-ton'd bugle-horn!
Unharbour Harmony! and, like the deer,
Or doubling hare, hunt her through all her wiles.

The Woodmen sound the horns, and Earine sings.
“Think it not, dearest youth! amiss,
“If maiden coyness I forsake,
“And on thy lips imprint a kiss;
“But as 'tis meant the boldness take:
“'Tis to restore
“My Æglamour
“To life and bliss,
“That I thus kiss
“My lovely and beloved swain;
“Then be not coy
“And cold, sweet boy!
“Nor think amiss
“That I thee kiss;
“But kiss, oh kindly kiss me, love! again.”

After the song is ended, the Woodmen continue sounding till Earine speaks.
Ear.
Cease, gentle woodmen! he's about to speak—
The notes of nightingales discordant were
Did they preclude his far more tuneful voice.

Ægl.
At length I am arriv'd, and landed safe
Upon the peaceful shore where spirits dwell!
'Twas a long voyage; painful, dark, and cold!
What have I not endur'd, since first I plung'd
To seek my love i'th' suffocating stream!
Sure I have known an intermediate state
'Twixt earth and heav'n! for oft methought I saw
My sweet Earin! but no sooner strove
To press her to my wishing, aching heart,
Than she was snatch'd away! and, lost in shades,
I wander'd up and down I know not where!

Ear.
Now she is thine, never to part again!

[They embrace.
Ægl.
Ha! do I fold thee! then is my bliss compleat!
The dale of death is fully overpast,
And on the topmost hill of heav'n I'm plac'd!
Come round, ye bless'd inhabitants, and view
A pair, whose loves when mortal were as pure
As yours, whose heavenly bowers we enter now!

Ear.
Alas, how wild he talks! collect thee, love!
This is not heaven, nor these—

Ægl.
What say'st thou, sweet!
Not heav'n, thus clasp'd in my Earin's arms?
Were I in griefly Pluto's dark domain,
Embracing thee, and thus by thee embrac'd,
Thy presence would irradiate tenfold night,
And make th'infernal realms than heav'n more bright!
See! there's a gentle, bliss-enjoying pair;
And there another! yonder is a third!
Mark what elysian joy beams in their eyes!
They're heav'n's inhabitants, and so are we,
Pair'd (there's no bliss without) like turtle doves;
Permitted here t'enjoy our earth-chose loves!

Ear.
Nay, my sweet Æglamour! look round again—
These are thy well-known friends, the green-wood train;
And this most venerable, holy man—

Ægl.
All's holy here! for I nor will, nor can
Think this is aught but paradise, and thee
The spirit of my lov'd Earine!
She who was drown'd in thirty-armed Trent;
Whom to rejoin, her faithful shepherd went
Like watry way; and through its oozy bed
Explor'd the path to heav'n and her that led!

Reub.
This wildness will subside—go, lead him forth
To other air; and let his eyes take note
Of the accustom'd objects all around;
Fam'd Be'voir castle; Robin Hood's gay bower;
The cots, and farms; green hills and flow'ry dales,
Where he so oft hath graz'd his fleecy flocks;
And when again he's perfect in his mind,
Conduct him to the altar near my cell:
There let him kneel, and thankfully adore
The power and mercy did his life restore.

Ægl.
What says the hoary, venerable form?
His looks are awful, yet they're wond'rous mild!
Sure 'tis some patriarch's spirit, which presides
In these abodes over departed souls!

Ear.
He rules all here; and wills that you retire
To view the limits round: I'll with thee, love!
And shew thee groves, and bowers, and verdant meads;
Smooth-gliding streams, and idly-babbling brooks;
Such as my Æglamour was wont to haunt.

Ægl.
Come then, pure partner in elyzium! come;
Shew our celestial, ever-blooming home:
Where, with these happy pairs, we'll fondly rove;
Enjoy unfading youth, unsated love;
And perfect bliss eternally all prove!

[Æglamour and Earine go out.
Rob.
What thanks, thou holy man! are due to thee?
What gifts, what guerdon? thy right-well-earn'd fee,
For thus restoring him we all thought dead!
How shall thy goodness be by us repaid?

Reub.
Nor thanks, nor guerdon, gentle Robin Hood,
Were due to me, though I had done this good;
Neither should on our social duties wait:
But send your grateful thanks to heav'n's high gate!
Whence a bright minister, by you unseen,
Descended swift the youth and death between;
Else had all mortal means perchance prov'd vain,
And Æglamour for aye a corse had lain!
But see! the sprite, invisible before
To all but me, who did to life restore
The drowned shepherd, comes with lightsome trips,
The veil thrown off, his brightness did eclipse.

Puck enters.
Puck.
Health and true happiness for aye betide
Each jolly bridegroom, and his plighted bride!
Unto my namesake, Robin of the wood,
And his fair Marian (not more fair than good)
Peaceful possession of their festal bower!
In which they ne'er shall know less happy hour
Than this: and unto holy Reuben's cell,
Where with Devotion pure the saint doth dwell,
Visions of spirits! far excelling me,
As doth my essence frail mortality:
Unto you all, invisible no more,
(Nay rise, nor one of my degree adore)
I come, (who late was wicked Maudlin's hind,
In the vile beldam's thrall perforce confin'd;
Now a free sprite!) the harbinger of bliss!
Your ev'ry fear, or doubt, all safe dismiss
For the entire recovery of the youth,
Pure paragon of perfect love and truth!
Into the frantic shepherd's brain a balm
I have infus'd, that with remembrance calm
Of ev'ry object round endues the swain:
When, for his near-lost life restor'd again,
His thanks are given at the holy shrine;
With grateful praises to the pow'rs divine;
Hither, with her who doth his steps attend,
(Earine) his love-light way he'll bend:
Be happy, mortals! pow'rful Puck's your friend!

Reub.
Thanks, gentle spirit! in the name of all,
For that the swain thou didst to life recall!
And for each other friendly office done,
Which e'en our hopes and wishes have outrun!

Mar.
Here come the pair! their eyes with rapture bright:
Now shall our feast be crown'd with true delight!

Æglamour and Earine re-enter.
Ægl.
O gentle friends! how shall I e'er repay
The various obligations of this day?
To life, to sense, Earine restor'd!
All bliss is center'd in that blissful word,
Earine! sure joy was ne'er like mine!
The sun with tenfold splendor seems to shine,
The face of nature ne'er was half so gay,
As on this more than festive, wond'rous day!

Ear.
Kind Marian! loving maids! embrace your friend;
Earin's sorrows now are at an end!
O holy hermit! once more on my knee—

Reub.
Rise, maiden! shepherd, rise! kneel not to me;
To this bright minister your thanks are due.

Puck.
Not more, good Reuben! than they are to you.

Ægl.
To both, then, we our thankful tribute give.

Ear.
To whom we owe that Æglamour doth live!

Puck.
Here comes my quondam dame, to deprecate
Your angers; and though I have cause of hate
To the old crone, for her fell tyranny;
Yet, from my bondage being now set free,
And from foul witchcraft she at length reclaim'd,
I all entreat with scoffing she's not sham'd;
Pity her age, nor let her more be blam'd!

Reub.
Kind spirit! were we not to mercy prone,
Thy mildness mright pervade a heart of stone.

Maudlin, Clarion, Douce, and Lorel enter.
Maud.
Lo! on her knees repentant Maudlin bends,
To crave yer pardons, and mak what amends
For bygone wickedness she may to a'
In guds, or person, harm'd; or kept in thra';
As, for my son, I kept Earine,
Pent i' the hollow'd prison of a tree:
Himsel tu, Lorel, doth repent; and sues
To a', his rudeness ever did abuse.

Lor.
Ey! I's offend nae mair, gif ye'll forgi',
But henceforth will a gentler swineherd be;
My sister Douce is to be Clarion's wife,
And we's a' change our crooked course o' life.

Dou.
Nae langer proud, as I ha' been a' day,
I'm sae abash'd I ha'n't a word to say!

Rob.
Is 't even so, good Clarion? wilt thou wed
And take, rich swain, this poor maid to thy bed?
Well fare thy generous heart!

Clar.
I'm of thy mind;
Thou, Robin, to the needy still art kind!
Those who are blest with wealth, should of their store
Be stewards, and dispensers to the poor:
The maid I'll wed; make Lorel o'er my flocks,
Herds, garners, barns, and other country stocks,
Surviewer; for in such craft he hath skill:
Repentant Maudlin, now reclaim'd from ill,
Shall in my cot find shelter for her age;
Where we'll attend her lore, and counsel sage,
Till time shall call her to the peaceful grave:
But first her pardon for past deeds I crave.

Alk.
Though erst her foe, now Clarion's suit I join;
Give all your pardons free as I give mine,
Unloosing from her neck this amulet strong:
See! of itself it falls! sure sign among
The righteous she's enroll'd: and all who groan
Under th'effects of her late charms, now flown,
(As did your cook, good Robin) in a trice
Will be as free from pain as she from vice.

Reub.
Reuben the reconciler I am call'd!
Since from the fiend her soul is disenthrall'd,
And reconcil'd to heav'n, let me entreat
Like grace and pardon she on earth may meet:
I read each visage round, and think I spy
A beam of mercy dart from ev'ry eye;
'Tis so! none e'er in sorrow went from hence!
In name of all, full pardon I dispense!
To punish crimes, is easy; to reclaim,
Forgive, and cherish, gains the nobler name!
Mercy's the darling attribute of heav'n;
And as we pardon, are our sins forgiv'n!

Lio.
All now were bless'd, would sweetest Mellifleur
The heart she has wounded kindly deign to cure.

Mel.
Freely! for troth I think thy passion pure!

Tuck.
Here's work enough, I trow, for Tuck the priest!
Your marriages, young folks, would make a feast,
Were there no other toward: I'll join your hands
(Your hearts are join'd!) in wedlock's gentle bands;
And when you mutual taste love's pure delights,
Crown with a fruitful blessing Hymen's rites!

Rob.
Now then return we to our greenwood-bower;
And, holy Reuben, there unbend an hour
In harmless mirth; so reverend a guest
Shall give a sanction to our rural feast:
The light-foot venison, hare, and feather'd game;
Each dainty flesh of bird, beast, wild or tame;
With choicest fish, 'cates, fruits, ale, sparkling wine,
Upon our plenteous board shall mingled shine.
And would pleas'd Puck but add his song and jest,
Banquets of kings were nought to our grac'd feast!

Puck.
With thanks, blithe Robin! I delight
To pass in merriment the night;
And the sad-employed day
Now prepares to flit away:
Soon bright Hesperus will appear,
Harbinger of Dian clear,
And her starry sky-robed train;
Whose mingled beams shall o'er the plain
Silver our footsteps, as we trace
Again the path, with chearful pace,
Was hither mark'd in mournful mood,
With doleful dirge, through the greenwood.
Now as we jocund bend our way,
Let's chaunt a merry roundelay:
Sound, woodmen! found your bugles sweet,
In sprightly notes, while Puck doth mete
Thereto some quaint and choral song,
As to the festal bower we trip along.

The Woodmen sound their bugles; Puck sings, and the rest join in chorus.
SONG.
CHORUS.
SONG.
CHORUS.