University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

Robin, Marian, Lionel, and Mellifleur enter, meeting Karolin and Amie.
Rob.
Welcome once more, thou gentle, love-sick maid!
Welcome, kind Karolin! most rightly nam'd
I see by Amie's love-delighted eye.
Sure such a threave of mildly-moulded swains
In blissful Arcady did never dwell!
Let us not then repine, for we are plac'd
In Albion's colder clime; not all the frost
Her icyest winters glaze our streams withal,
Hath pow'r to chill the bosom of her sons;
Wherein love's fire maintains such constant heat,
That an eternal fervid summer reigns!

Kar.
So much I feel its force, while this fair sun
Sheds her bright beams, infusing kindly warmth,
Nor age nor winter e'er can freeze my veins;
But youth and spring-time, ever fresh and new,
Shall keep my love still in its bud and bloom!

Mar.
You need no tongue t'interpret for your eyes;
Yet say, fond Amie, art thou bless'd indeed?

Am.
So bless'd, so highly bless'd, oh Marian!
That to be queen of all the region round,
Or the whole peopled world, were bliss far short
Of the possessing kindest Karol's love!

Rob.
Fairly confess'd; may you be ever thus!
And all that visit this my greenwood bower!
Hither I came, foregoing pomp and state,
In search of happiness so rarely found.
Here in these sylvan shades (oh blissful seat!)
Unenvied and unenvying, we abide
The change of seasons, and the lapse of time;
For healthful exercise, and needful food,
Through merry Sherwood chase the noble hart:
When from his lair, beneath a brake of vert,
Unharbour'd first by Scathlock, or stout John,
Sudden he'll bound, he'll fly; ascend the hill,
Descend (that gain'd) the dale; now stop, look back,
And list if he's secure: the bugle sounds;
Again like wind he fleets, as fleet the hounds
Pursue; they strain, they pant; till, nearly spent,
We slip our strong relays: then what a sound,
When in full cry the treble, counter, base
O' th' tuneful pack, in perfect harmony,
Ring through the azure vault of smiling heav'n!
Whose echo with the concert keeps true time;
While the spheres listen to the envied chime!

Lio.
Renowned hunter! gallant Robin Hood!
Thy bow'r, thy sports, thy manners please so well,
A bowman with thee, I, content, could dwell!

Mel.
Ah me! is this the love I fondly dream'd
He bare to me? 'would it had not so seem'd!

Mar.
Sweet Mellifleur, why heaves that heart-fetch'd sigh?
Amie looks cheerly, thou as thou would'st die;
Thou'rt love or planet-struck now; how's the moon?

Mel.
Ah me! I fear that I shall sudden swoon!

Kar.
Lead her forth, shepherd, into other air;
And courteous Lionel, a word i' your ear.
Apply your lips to hers, be not afraid;
So was your sister cur'd, so may this maid.

[Lionel leads Mellifleur out.
Rob.
'Tis as it should be! every man his mate;
'Twill make our festival the more compleat.
Were Clarion return'd, and the sad swain,
Craz'd Æglamour, but his right self again,
We'd strive forget the shepherdess' late loss
I' th' swollen Trent, she strove in vain to cross!

Mar.
Look! look! grant heav'n my dazzled eyes see true!
Nor that her loss a second time I rue.
See where Earine, or else her ghost
Approaches, Robin! sure she was not lost.
[Earine enters, conducted by Alken, John, Scarlet, Scathlock, and George.
It is herself!—this hand is flesh and blood—
Prais'd be the Gods for this unhop'd-for good!
Welcome our mourn'd-for-dead, but living guest.

Rob.
Welcome, most beauteous maiden, to our feast!
Now shall thy faithful Æglamour be blest.

Kar.
O my lov'd sister! do I once more clasp,
Thy living body in these folding arms!

Am.
O joyful sight! now will kind Karol wed.

Ear.
My Karolin! my brother! and good friends!
Where is my Æglamour? my dearest love!
Does he yet think on his Earine?

Rob.
On nothing else, fair maid! and for thy loss,
Drown'd, as we fancied, in the Trent's swift stream,
He wanders up and down, all woe-begone;
Of sense, almost of life for thee bereft!
But Clarion, who doth careful 'tend his steps,
Shall strait conduct him to this blissful bow'r;
And soon restore his wits, restoring thee.
But say, Earine, where were you hid?
And to what chance owe we your presence now?

Ear.
Please you to speak, brave bowman! and inform
From what a dreary prison, and worse dread,
Thy prowess freed me.

John.
Pardon me, fair maid!
The tale befits not me; some other speak—
Scathlock, George, Scarlet—

Scat.
Nay, I's first be hang'd!

Geo.
It fits not us to talk.

Scar.
We were sore bang'd!

Rob.
Speak, Alken, then, of all you know hath happ'd.

Alk.
First let me briefly tell, we chas'd the witch,
Old Maudlin, in the shape of a fleet hare,
E'en to her fourm; and there had taken her,
But for our over-eagerness of sport,
Which scared her 'midst her spells and charms; whereon
She and her goblin hastily took flight,
And left us all-bewilder'd and amaz'd.
Returning hither we beheld this maid
Dragg'd forth a hollow'd tree, by that coarse carle
Lewd Lorel, bestial as the swine he feeds;
While with pure prayers the spotless virgin call'd
On Heav'n to shield that honour he assail'd.
Who, that humanity or love e'er knew,
Beauty distrest from aiding could refrain!
First Scathlock, with his stout and knotty staff,
Aiming a blow, the lubber loud 'gan laugh;
Strait from his ribs resounded Scathlock's stroke;
But, by ill luck, his staff, tho' plant of oak,
Snapp'd short: the huntsman thus soon foil'd, retired,
As lightning swift, with indignation fir'd,
Scarlet flew at him; but, tho' brave and strong,
The conflict 'twixt them lasted not o'er long;
Tripp'd by a stubbed thorn flat on his face,
Lorel exulted in th' unearn'd disgrace.
Nor better fared stout George, for on the ground
(Tho' us'd by dint of strength to pin and pound)
Hurl'd by the huge hulk, weltering was he found!
I trembled for the maiden! three were quell'd;
But one remain'd, fit match; me, feeble eld
Forbade to hope, altho' my heart were good,
To conquer him who three men's conqueror stood.
With scornful grin now Lorel John attacks;
Then what a rattling peal of thumps and thwacks!
The maiden wail'd; I pray'd; they stoutly fought;
Victory was neuter long, by both hard sought.
At length the pursy swine-herd blows for breath;
Yet meditates, by art, thy bowman's death:
Draws forth the knife with which he kills his swine,
And aims it in the grapple at John's chine—
Heav'n gave me strength to wrest it from his grip;
Now John, quoth I, let not this moment slip!
No sooner said than done; John rais'd him high,
Then downward dash'd him; wallowing he doth lie
In his own blood, with horrible outcry.
The maid deliver'd, hither soon we came—
Tho' John the praise won, let none else have blame;
To be well conquer'd is, I trow, no shame.

Rob.
Well hast thou told the tale, wise Alken! John,
May'st thou to conquer ever thus go on!
And for this victory at our feast be seen,
Deck'd with a coronal of laurel green!
Cheer up, brave fellows! nor let this dismay;
You may have better luck another day:
Bathe all your bruises in my healing well,
So shall your wounds not fester, or limbs swell;
Then broach a cask o' th' best, and 'swage your thirst;
Fighting's hot work—drink deep—but John drink first!

John.
Not this time, master, I deserve no praise;
But for sage Alken ended were my days.

Geo.
I ne'er was beat before so, by the mass!

Scar.
I'm a meer jelly!

Scat.
I a cudgel'd ass!

[John, George, Scarlet, and Scathlock go out.
Kar.
How the stout woodmen grieve for their mischance!

Rob.
They are so us'd to quell all dare oppose
They hardly brook this single vanquishment.

Mar.
Old Maud, then, clearly hath escap'd?

Alk.
Not so.
Somewhat remains untold—between the tree
Confin'd the maid, and this gay greenwood-bow'r,
From an o'er-brambled gap in a rude crag,
As we were posting hither, with surprize
We saw crawl out the beldam late had sunk
I' th' earth, attended by her quondam hind;
Who spake these words, and instant disappear'd.
“My term's expir'd, my service done;
“Foul dame, with joy from thee I run!”
I seiz'd the moment she was unprepar'd,
By aiding fiend, or charms, to make defence;
And round her shrivell'd neck an amulet fix'd,
(Nought but repentance and pure prayers can loose)
That by its hidden virtue will prevent
The unwitch'd hag from working future scathe.

Rob.
In all things well and wisely hast thou done.
But why comes Mellifleur in tears, I trow?
Will Lionel no kindness to her shew?

Mellifleur enters.
Mel.
Mourn, mourn, you gentle train! now all is done.
Forth from this festal unto dark shades run,
And wail the woful'st chance our plains e'er knew!

Mar.
What chance, sweet maid? say what, and whence it grew?

Mel.
When late young Lionel, the courteous swain,
Hence led me to repeat an amorous strain;
From Trent-ward o'er the meads at distance we
Beheld a shepherd, bearing o'er the lea
A drowned corse; when Lionel swift ran,
To help the living bear the lifeless man,
Dead Æglamour!

Ear.
Ha! dead!

Mel.
Earine!
Is't her, or is't her shade, I wond'ring see?
If her thou art, in vain he sought that death
By which he deem'd his love was reft of breath;
In vain he plung'd him in that watry bed;
In vain thou live'st, since he, alas, is dead!

Mar.
Lo, where the gentle shepherds, sad and slow,
Bear the cold corse! doth this a festal shew?

Kar.
My almost brother dead!

Am.
And mine!

Alk.
Poor youth!
Thou diest a martyr to thy love and truth.

Rob.
Ill-fated shepherd! in that moment drown'd,
When all thy wishes were so nearly crown'd;
Our festival thou'st to a funeral turn'd!

Ear.
Break, break, poor heart! soon as thy dead love's mourn'd.

[Clarion and Lionel enter, bearing Æglamour.
Clar.
Behold, lamenting friends!—and oh, sweet maid!
I almost hoped did live—by death low laid
The pride of Be'voir vale!

Lio.
And dost thou live,
Earine! thy true love's death to grieve?

Rob.
Tell briefly, either shepherd, that knows best,
How chanc'd his fate, then bear him to his rest.

Clar.
Th'unhappy youth late heard a sweet voice sing
He thought Earine's; strait to the spring
That, circling, rises in the midst of Trent,
With fleeting haste to drown with her he went;
Thinking her spirit hover'd in the air,
Waiting till his from mortal bonds was clear.
I follow'd him, and gain'd the rivers brink
Just as he plung'd; these eyes beheld him sink!
Soon he arose; as soon he sank again,
Mutt'ring Earine! with stifled pain:
A second time, but further from the shore,
He 'rose; Earin! groan'd—I heard no more—
The eddying water whirl'd him once more down;
I stood the while aghast—a man of stone!
As heav'n ordain'd, a third time did he rise,
Speechless and senseless! with distracted cries
I sprang so near him, that I caught him fast,
As he was sinking; and with utmost haste
Swam with my death-like load unto the shore;
Used every means I hoped might life restore;
But, failing, hither strait the body bore.

Rob.
Thy pains commend thee, shepherd, tho' in vain;
As well i'th' water might he still have lain;
For he is gone, ne'er to revive again!

Ear.
No, I'll not weep! I'll follow calm his bier,
Then die upon his grave without a tear!

Rob.
Within, ho! all whom life and health permit
Come forth, to bear this corse in order fit;
Bring too your bugles; and, good Friar, lend
Your pious aid, while sadly we attend,
To' inter this dust near holy Reuben's cell;
Th'immortal part is flown with saints to dwell!
So!—wind his Mort, with slow and solemn sound;
And sing his Dirge, as we pace toward the ground!

[The Friar, &c. having come forth, they carry off Æglamour, singing his Dirge.
Dir.

Puck enters.
Puck.
My penance done, my toilsome bondage past,
In which, for impure pranks, I erst was cast,
I am free as air! releas'd from Maud's curst thrall;
Who from her height of power full low doth fall—
Wounded by adders, hissing all around,
The beldam lies; with a strong amulet bound
From harming, or subduing man or beast.
Now would I frolick fain at Robin's feast;
But with the drowned shepherd's fate 'tis marr'd:
Pity such love should ever be ill-star'd!
And yet, perchance, the swain is not quite dead;
Methought a gleam of lightning hither sped!
There did! sure token heaven hath bliss in store,
And will revive again young Æglamour!
No more a witch's goblin and Puck-hairy,
But mankind's friend, a pure and gentle fairy,
The mourning throng invisible I'll join;
And, if the least remains of breath divine
Infused at first creation, unperceiv'd
By mortal senses, (I can't be deceiv'd)
I'll shoot from pole to pole, pervade the skies
For every aid that in immortals lies,
Till he to life, Earine, and bliss arise!

[Exit.
SCENE, Lorel's Oak.
Lorel lying on the ground.
Lor.
Oh! I sal ne'er get up again! my bones
Are broken sure! and I am all o'er bruis'd,
As though ten threshers had belabour'd me
Wi' their stout flails, and beat me to mere chaff!
They have ta'en my maistress tu! (that's warst of all)
Though for my mother's help I loud 'gan bawl.
Why wald she let 'em? I remember when
A dark'ning fog she rais'd; and why not then?
And why not come to help me? by her art
I suld be heal'd bilive of my sair smart.
Douce enters.
Oh, Douce! kind sister! see where Lorel lies,
Lend me thy help while fra' the earth I rise!

Dou.
Ah, Lorel! brother! what hath hap'd to thee?
My turn is next sure! nought but misery
Can I expect, wi' nought to shield fra' harms;
Nor Lorel's strength, nor Maudlin's potent charms.
Our mother's witchcraft arts are from her flown;
I found her helpless, making piteous moan,
A' stung wi' adders, sought to mak a spell:
For cure I led her to the healing-well
Of Robin Hood; fra' which with pain I drew
Water for the 'nonce: then search'd for thee around,
To bear her home when she has 'swaged each wound.

Lor.
Gi' me yer hand, Douce; gently! gently! sae;
Gif I can walk I's to my mother gae,
To crave her counsel how to quell the foes,
Wha stole my maistress hence, and ga' me blows!

Dou.
Whate'er your scathe, or by whoever done,
To seek revenge may bring on future ills;
Gud canna' spring fra' evil plain is seen,
And evil, tho' compell'd, the doer harms!
I ne'er did ill but by my mother forc'd,
To aid her arts; yet was I thereby hurt.
This garment of Earine's she gave,
And bade me wear, did mak me proud o'heart;
Pride's a great sin; but pale revenge is wairs!
I ha' thrown off pride, as I will this gay garb
Soon as I find the maid escap'd yer tree;
Do ye foregae revenge: a rancrous heart
Still i' the end doth punish most itsel.
Our mother's witchcraft o'er, she can't compel
Us now to evil; let us, Lorel, strive
(Sae will yer herds, yer sel, and kindred thrive)
Which can excell in gud, as erst in ill;
Brother, I counsel ye, fra' right gud will!

Lor.
Well! lead to Maudlin, while I am in the muid,
Wairs I can't thrive suld I turn e'er sae gud!

[Exeunt.
SCENE, Robin Hood's Well.
Maudlin, sitting by the well, bathing her wounds.
Maud.
Still mun I bear this torment, wairs than death;
Which I wald willing meet to 'scape sic pangs!
Tho' I ha' shook the poisonous reptiles off
That clung around my limbs, deaf to my wails
As heav'n or hell, (both oft in vain invok'd)
Yet hath their venom rankled sae my veins,
That e'en this wond'rous well can nought avail
To gi' me ease, and heal the serpents' wounds:
My charms ha' pow'r nae mair, my spirit's flown;
And I can only curse, or faintly pray.

Lorel and Douce enter.
Lor.
How fare ye, mother? are ye wounded sair?
I am sair bruis'd, and ha' my maistress lost;
A' things gae cross, I think, to wark us ill;
I wanted yer help; ye, meseems, lack mine.

Dou.
How now, dear mother? are yer pains yet gone?

Maud.
Oh, no! kind Douce! they harrow e'en my soul!
I am sae curst, this till-now-healing well,
Doth but encrease the pangs it else wald cure.

Lor.
Troth, mother, I ha' oft heard say, that seld
It helps the wicked; never a foul witch!

Maud.
Out on thee, limmer! what vild wards are these?
Oh! oh! again the poison shoots, and stings,
And bites, and gnaws, as it wald eat my heart!
What sal I do for ease, dear daughter Douce?

Dou.
Alas! gud mother! wald that I could tell!
Lorel is used to cope wi' a' the brood
O' snakes and taids, in tending o' his herds;
He better kens than I.

Maud.
Again they pang!
Speak ye bilive, rude Lorel, what did ye
Whan sic like reptiles harm'd yer swine and kie?
And gif ye ha' love or pitydo't to me!

Lor.
Whan cleft-tongued adders stung my bristled swine,
I still ha' used to kill the hurten beasts;
Sal we kill ye? or will ye bide in pain?
I ha' lost my knife!—gif, mother, ye will die,
Lend me yer blade or bodkin for the stroke.

Dou.
Shame on thee, lown! gi' o'er sic uncouch speech.

Maud.
Ha'ye nae greater feeling? swineherd! brute!
But wald ye slay your mother, thus oppress'd?
Bestir yer lubber limbs, less hurt than mine,
And help me to the haly hermit's cell;
Reuben is kind and skilfu'!—thanks, dear Douce.
Ha' mercy, heav'n! I'll hence forsake my craft,
My wiles, my witcheries, and turn to gud;
Sae may the ev'ning o' my life be blest,
Sae, whan I die, my soul in heav'n may rest!

[Lorel and Douce lead Maudlin out.
SCENE, the Entrance to a Hermit's Cell.
Reuben, a devout Hermit, enters.
Reub.
Blest be the hour I left, for this abode,
The gaudy world! here, dedicate to heaven,
I pass the evening of my well-spent days;
Free from tumultuous cares, fraud, pain, and strife.
Here, from my beechen bowl, I drink the stream
That, smooth meand'ring, circumscribes my cell;
From cleanly trencher frugal viands eat;
Fresh herbs, stor'd pulse, plants, fruit, or esculent roots,
Clad in coarse frieze I feel not winter's cold,
Which oft-time makes the silk-rob'd worldling shrink;
And in this shade, where airy zephyrs dwell,
Am far more free from summer's heat, than those
Who pant beneath a proud and gilded dome.
The mat I wove of rushes, from the brink
Of the near brook, that prattling glides away,
My nightly couch; whereon, by soft content
And gentle peace embrac'd, I sweetly sleep;
And, ere the day unclose his golden eye,
Waking, pour forth my pure heart's orisons;
Then range the dewy meads for heav'n-sent herbs,
Of foodful use, or medicinal power;
For self-support, or any need my aid.
Thus do I keep my sear leaf ting'd with green;
And thus still serving God and man am seen!
But cease, my pleasance; hither bends a train
Of nymphs and shepherds, sadly o'er the plain.


[Part of the Dirge is heard repeated at a distance.
“The chase is o'er, the hart is slain,
“The gentlest hart that grac'd the plain;
“With breath of bugles sound his knell,
“Then lay him low in death's drear dell.”

[Robin Hood, Marian, Friar Tuck, the Shepherds, Shepherdesses, and woodmen (bearing Æglamour) enter in solemn procession.
Reub.
What's here? what's here? a shepherd's drowned corse!
Young Æglamour, the virtuous! worse and worse!
He that came daily, hourly to my cell,
And by my counsel fram'd his life so well,
In goodness as in comeliness t' excell!
But vain is praise now—bear him gently in.
[They carry Æglamour into the cell; Marian and the Sheperdesses following, are prevented by Reuben.
Let no more follow! th'air must be kept thin,
And while we try our utmost skill and pow'r
Again his respiration to restore,
Ye females to yon holy grove repair;
There kneel, and heaven implore with hymn and prayer,
If he yet lives his guiltless life to spare.

[Reuben goes into the cell, the women remain.
Ear.
What said the reverend man? is he not dead?
A clay-cold corse upon the bier laid!
Why have they ta'en him hence? ah, why deprive
Me of him the few moments I am alive!
My heart soon breaking, we'll together go,
Wedded in death, to our bridal bed full low!

Mar.
Peace, sad Earine! with us along;
And heaven address in prayer, and holy song.
Reuben spoke comfort; heaven may yet restore
The youth who now, like thee, we all deplore!

Mel.
Come, lovely mourner! to the holy fane.

Am.
Come, beauteous maid! nor be thy prayers vain.

Ear.
Lead on, good Marian; and, kind-hearted maids,
T' implore high heaven lend your pious aids;
Haste we to fervent prayer i' th' holy grove—
This veil of death, ye sacred powers, remove,
And raise the youth again to life and love!

[Earine, Marian, &c. go to the Grove.
Friar Tuck and the Woodmen return from the Cell.
Tuck.
Come, my good fellows all, obey the hest
Of holy Reuben; and, behind this cell
Prepare a peaceful grave, I'll consecrate,
Should life be flown past power of calling back,
For the drown'd shepherd; leaving, the mean time,
The hermit, with your master, Robin Hood,
And the kind shepherd-swains, t' assay restore
To life again the mourned Æglamour.
Which should he not effect, 'tis best (he said)
With all dispatch he in the earth be laid;
Hid from the sight of the lamenting maid.

John.
Why, do you think it possible, good Friar,
Reuben should bring the dead to life again?

Geo.
Ah, John, that never can be done, I fear.

Scar.
An't can, the good old hermit sure will do't.

Scat.
An' gif he does, he's a gud man indeed.

Tuck.
He is, indeed! a good, a holy man!
No world-chas'd libertine, compell'd to fly
To unlov'd solitude for life ill spent;
No sour, unsocial, man detester, he,
Secluded in a lone austerity;
Thinking to purchase heaven by abstinence
From what heaven sent, for mankind's moderate use;
Mortification; penance; and a train
Of visionary superstition's bribes
For that, which nought but a pure heart can gain:
Reuben is none of these; devoutly vow'd
To heaven and God, he's still the friend of man:
Delighting in humanity's mild deeds,
His each humane endeavour still succeeds!

John.
You think, then, father Tuck, he'll raise the swain?

Scat.
Gif so, why suld we dig a needless grave?

Tuck.
Grudge not that little labour; should it prove
A needless one, I think you'll not repine:
So do it for the reason Reuben gave.—
To say he certainly will raise the swain,
Because himself is holy, is not fit;
Vainly might I as well presume to say,
You still must conquer for that you are strong:
Nothing we know's impossible to God!
He, if he please, may grant the good man's prayer,
Bestow a blessing on his pains and skill,
And raise the youth again, now seeming dead;
Who, without pains, and skill, and prayers to heaven,
And heaven's blessing giv'n, were dead indeed!
But that a miracle should e'er be work'd
To interrupt great nature's settled course,
And give a second life to one quite dead,
(Unless t' accomplish the designs of God!)
Were childish to expect; weak to believe;
And derogates from heaven's wise providence!

John.
Thanks, gentle friar! you have, as you are wont,
Expounded to us all so plain and clear,
A child might understand. I have heard divines
At Wakefield, Hereford, and Nottingham,
So preach, perplex and pother with a text;
That not their hearers only, wise or learn'd,
But e'en themselves were so bewilder'd oft,
They seem'd like men lost in a labyrinth's maze;
And stray'd the more, the more they strove t' escape
(Wanting the clue of sense to guide them right)
The intricate, obscure, and puzzling path.

Scat.
Mass! John, that's true; and therefore seld went I
To church to hear what none could understand.

Scar.
Come then; now father Tuck has well explain'd
These matters, let's about the shepherd's grave.

Geo.
May heaven and Reuben's skill him from it save!

Tuck.
Hold; hither come the wicked beldam, Maud;
Her son, and daughter; what brings them here trow?

Scat.
Were she but still a witch, (for Alken says
Her cursed craft is done, her goblin flown)
Suld a' means fail gud Reuben sal essay,
She might ca' back the dead man's sprite wi' charms.

Tuck.
No, Scathlock, no! think not those leagued with hell
Can e'er that good atchieve, which pious prayers
And heaven's high pleasure do not bring to pass.

Maudlin, Douce, and Lorel enter.
Lor.
Mother, gae back! for yonder's little John,
Wha sae belabour'd me I scant can crawl;
Belike again he'll beat me gif I stay!

Maud.
See ye na' father Tuck? nae harm can hap
While he is present—On her knees, gud friar,
Behold a wretched eld, whase wicked life
Has made her th'outcast and the hate o' th' warld:
Forgi' me, haly friar! and ye, gud men,
Wham I ha' oft offended, oh, forgi'
A helpless, harmless, and repentant wretch,
Wha ne'er will injure ye or yer's agen!

Tuck.
If, as you say, you do repent your crimes,
And ne'er will practise your vile arts again,
I'll answer for these honest-hearted men,
As well as for myself, your pardon strait.
But say, what brings you here? we are busy now.
And, oh! (I grieve t' upbraid, forgiveness pass'd.)
You were the cause of what employs our cares!
Had not rude Lorel, aided by your arts,
Conceal'd Earine, young Æglamour,
Who thought her dead, had not now lain a corse,
A drowned corse, in holy Reuben's cell.

Dou.
O piteous tidings! is the shepherd drown'd!

Maud.
Ha' mercy, heaven! nor let the innocent's death
Be added to my countless, heinous crimes!
Haste me, an't be yer will, gud reverend friar!
To where he lies. Tho' I ha' left my arts,
My wicked anes, yet I possess gud skill,
And knowledge in what's fitting to be done
In sic like scathes; O, let me help atone,
Gif in my power, for my ill-doing past:
Perchance the haly hermit then will try,
To gar the pangs I now endure to cease;
And I my better days may end in peace!

Tuck.
If thou 'rt sincere, come with me to the cell;
Meantime, good fellows, do as was desir'd:
That, if all pains, and skill, and prayers should fail
To raise the youth; according to the hest
Of holy Reuben he be laid to rest!

[Friar Tuck and Maudlin go into the cell.
Lor.
Come, Douce, wi' me, I am afeard to stay,
Bruis'd as I am, t' endure another fray;
Suld John there force me wi' him now to fight,
Like Æglamour I's bid the warld gud night!

Dou.
I's gae lest they suld wreak on me their spite.

[Lorel and Douce go out.
Scat.
The sturdy Lorel scouls, and gangs his gate;
He fears to bide, and swagger, as o' late.

John.
'Tis a mere savage, and beneath our thought;
Come, now let's to our task; and, ere 'tis wrought,
Good Reuben's heaven-bless'd skill I pray make vain,
Our labour, by reviving the young swain!

[Exeunt.