A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Viii Part 32

Come, my small fellow John, You shall have half, and therefore bring in one.

LIT. JOHN. No, my big fellow, honest Master Much, Take all unto yourself: I'll be no half.

MUCH. Then stand: you shall be the two thieves, and I'll be the presenter.

O Master Shrieve of Nottingham, When ears unto my tidings came,[236]

(I'll speak in prose, I miss this verse vilely) that Scathlock and Scarlet were arrested by Robin Hood, my master, and Little John, my fellow, and Much, his servant, and taken from you, Master Shrieve, being well forward in the hanging way, wherein ye now are (and G.o.d keep ye in the same), and also that you, Master Shrieve, would give any man in town, city, or country a hundred pound of lawful arrant[237] money of England, that would bring the same two thieves, being these two; now I, the said Much, challenge of you the said Shrieve, bringing them, the same money.

SCAR. Faith, he cannot pay thee, Much.

MUCH. Ay, but while this end is in my hand, and that about his neck, he is bound to it.

_Enter_ ROBIN, ELY, MARIAN.

WAR. Mock on, mock on: make me your jesting game.

I do deserve much more than this small shame.

ROB. H. Disconsolate and poor dejected man, Cast from thy neck that shameful sign of death, And live for me, if thou amend thy life, As much in favour as thou ever didst.

WAR. O, worse than any death, When a man wrong'd his wronger pitieth!

ELY. Warman, be comforted, rise and amend: On my word, Robin Hood will be thy friend.

ROB. H. I will indeed: go in, heart-broken man.

Father Fitzwater, pray lead him in.

Kind Marian, with sweet comforts comfort him, And my tall yeomen, as you me affect, Upbraid him not with his forepa.s.sed life.

Warman, go in; go in and comfort thee.

WAR. O, G.o.d requite your honour's courtesy.

MAR. Scathlock or Scarlet, help us, some of ye.

[_Exeunt_ WARMAN, MARIAN, FITZWATER, SCATHLOCK, SCARLET, MUCH.

_Enter_ FRIAR TUCK _in his truss, without his weed_.

FRIAR. Jesu benedicite!

Pity on pity, Mercy on mercy, Misery on misery!

O, such a sight, As by this light, Doth me affright?

ROB. H. Tell us the matter, prythee, holy Friar.

FRIAR. Sir Doncaster the priest and the proud Prior Are stripp'd and wounded in the way to Bawtrey, And if there go not speedy remedy, They'll die, they'll die in this extremity.

ROB. H. Alas! direct us to that wretched place: I love mine uncle, though he hateth me.

FRIAR. My weed I cast to keep them from the cold, And Jenny, gentle girl, tore all her smock The b.l.o.o.d.y issue of their wounds to stop.

ROB. H. Will you go with us, my good Lord of Ely?

ELY. I will, and ever praise thy perfect charity.

[_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ PRINCE JOHN _solus, in green: with bow and arrows_.

JOHN. Why, this is somewhat like: now may I sing, As did the Wakefield Pinder in his note--

_At Michaelmas cometh my covenant out, My master gives me my fee: Then, Robin, I'll wear thy Kendal green, And wend to the greenwood with thee_.[238]

But for a name now: John it must not be, Already Little John on him attends: Greenleaf? Nay, surely there's such a one already: Well, I'll be Woodnet, hap what happen may.

_Enter_ SCATHLOCK.

Here comes a green coat (good luck be my guide) Some sudden shift might help me to provide.

SCATH. What, fellow William, did you meet our master?

JOHN. I did not meet him yet, my honest friend.

SCATH. My honest friend! why, what a term is here?

My name is Scathlock, man, and if thou be No other than thy garments show to me, Thou art my fellow, though I know thee not.

What is thy name? When wert thou entertain'd?

JOHN. My name is Woodnet; and this very day My n.o.ble master, Earl of Huntington, Did give me both my fee and livery.

SCATH. Your n.o.ble master, Earl of Huntington!

I'll lay a crown you are a counterfeit, And that, you know, lacks money of a n.o.ble.

Did you receive your livery and fee, And never heard our orders read unto you?

What was the oath was given you by the Friar?

JOHN. Who?--Friar Tuck?

SCATH. Ay, do not play the liar, For he comes here himself to shrive.

_Enter_ FRIAR TUCK.

JOHN. Scathlock, farewell; I will away.

SCATH. See you this arrow? it says nay.

Through both your sides shall fly this feather, If presently you come not hither.

FRIAR. Now heaven's true liberality Fall ever for his charity Upon the head of Robin Hood, That to his very foes doth good.

Lord G.o.d! how he laments the Prior, And bathes his wounds against the fire.

Fair Marian, G.o.d requite it her, Doth even as much for Doncaster, Whom newly she hath lain in bed, To rest his weary, wounded head.

SCATH. Ho! Friar Tuck, know you this mate?

FRIAR. What's he?