A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Viii Part 39

WAR. O, forgive me, G.o.d, And save my master from their b.l.o.o.d.y hands!

PRIOR. What, hast thou made him sure?

DON. It's dead--sure he is dead, if that be sure?

PRIOR. Then let us thrust the dagger in his hand, And when the next comes, cry he kill'd himself.

DON. That must be now: yonder comes Robin Hood.

No life in him?

PRIOR. No, no, not any life.

Three mortal wounds have let in piercing air, And at their gaps his life is clean let out.

_Enter_ ROBIN HOOD.

ROB. H. Who is it, uncle, that you so bemoan?

PRIOR. Warman, good nephew, whom Sir Doncaster and I Found freshly bleeding, as he now doth lie.

You were scarce gone, when he did stab himself.

ROB. H. O G.o.d!

He in his own hand holds his own heart's hurt: I dreaded, too, much his distressed look.

Belike the wretch despair'd, and slew himself.

DON. Nay. that's most sure: yet he had little reason, Considering how well you used him.

ROB. H. Well, I am sorry, but must not be sad, Because the king is coming to my bower.

Help me, I pray thee, to remove his body, Lest he should come and see him murdered.

Some time anon he shall be buried.

[_Exeunt_ ROBIN HOOD _and_ SIR DONCASTER _with the body_.[268]

PRIOR. Good! all is good! this is as I desire: Now for a face of pure hypocrisy.

Sweet murder, clothe thee in religious weeds, Reign in my bosom, that with help of thee I may effect this Robin's tragedy.

_Enter_ ROBIN HOOD _and_ SIR DONCASTER.

DON. Nay, nay, you must not take this thing so heavily.

ROB. H. A body's loss, Sir Doncaster, is much; But a soul's too is more to be bemoan'd.

PRIOR. Truly I wonder at your virtuous mind.

O G.o.d, to one so kind who'd be unkind!

Let go this grief: now must you put on joy, And for the many favours I have found, So much exceeding all conceit of mine, Unto your cheer I'll add a precious drink, Of colour rich and red, sent me from Rome, There's in it moly,[269] Syrian balsamum, Gold's rich elixir; O, 'tis precious!

ROB. H. Where is it, uncle?

PRIOR. As yesterday Sir Doncaster and I rid on our way, Thieves did beset us, bound us, as you saw, And among other things did take from me This rich confection: but regardlessly, As common drink, they cast into a bush The bottle, which this day Sir Doncaster Fetch'd, and hath left it in the inner lodging.

I tell you, nephew (I do love you well).

A pint of this ransom'd the Sophy's son When he was taken in Natolia.

I meant, indeed, to give it my liege lord, In hope to have his favour; but to you I put myself: be my good friend, And, in your own restoring me restore.

ROB. H. Uncle, I will; you need urge that no more.

But what's the virtue of this precious drink?

PRIOR. It keeps fresh youth, restores diseased sight, Helps nature's weakness, smooths the scars of wounds, And cools the entrails with a balmy breath, When they, by thirst or travail, boil with heat.

ROB. H. Uncle, I thank you: pray you, let me have A cup prepared 'gainst the king comes in, To cool his heat: myself will give it him.

PRIOR. And when he drinks, be bold to say, he drinks A richer draught than that dissolved pearl, Which Cleopatra drank to Antony.

ROB. H. I have much business: let it be your charge To make this rich draught ready for the king, And I will quit it; pray ye, do not fail.

[_Exit_.

PRIOR. I warrant you, good nephew.

DON. Better and better still!

We thought before but to have poison'd him, And now shall Robin Hood destroy the king.

Even when the king, the queen, the prince, the lords, Joy in his virtues, this supposed vice Will turn to sharp hate their exceeding love.

PRIOR. Ha, ha, ha! I cannot choose but laugh, To see my cousin cozen'd in this sort.

Fail him, quoth you; nay, hang me if I do.

But, Doncaster, art sure the poisons are well-mix'd?

DON. Tut, tut! let me alone for the poisoning: I have already turn'd o'er four or five, That anger'd[270] me. But tell me, Prior, Wherefore so deadly dost thou hate thy cousin?

PRIOR. Shall I be plain? because, if he were dead, I should be made the Earl of Huntington.

DON. A pretty cause; but thou a churchman art.

PRIOR. Tut, man, if that would fall, I'll have a dispensation, and turn temporal.

But tell me, Doncaster, why dost thou hate him?

DON. By the ma.s.s, I cannot tell. O yes, now I ha't: I hate thy cousin Earl of Huntington, Because so many love him as there do, And I myself am loved of so few.

Nay, I have other reasons for my hate: He is a fool, and will be reconcil'd To any foe he hath: he is too mild, Too honest for this world, fitter for heaven.

He will not kill these greedy cormorants, Nor strip base peasants of the wealth they have!

He does abuse a thief's name and an outlaw's, And is, indeed, no outlaw nor no thief: He is unworthy of such reverend names.

Besides, he keeps a paltry whimling[271] girl, And will not bed, forsooth, before he bride.

I'll stand to't, he abuses maidenhead; That will not take it, being offered, Hinders the commonwealth of able men.

Another thing I hate him for again: He says his prayers, fasts eves, gives alms, does good: For these and such like crimes swears Doncaster To work the speedy death of Robin Hood.

PRIOR. Well-said, i' faith. Hark, hark! the king returns; To do this deed my heart like fuel burns.

[_Exeunt_.

_Wind horns. Enter_ KING, QUEEN, JOHN, FITZWATER, ELY, CHESTER, SALISBURY, LEICESTER, LITTLE JOHN, FRIAR TUCK, SCARLET, SCATHLOCK, _and_ MUCH: FRIAR TUCK _carrying a stag's head, dancing_.

KING. Gramercy, Friar, for thy glee, Thou greatly hast contented me: What with thy sporting and thy game, I swear, I highly pleased am.