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Five marks, Indeed!
Here's, at the least, a hundred marks in gold!
ABBOT
That is my fees, my fees; you must not take them!
ROBIN
The ancient miracle!--five loaves, two small fishes; And then--of what remained--they gathered up Twelve basketsful!
ABBOT
Oh, you blaspheming villains!
ROBIN
Abbot, I chance to know how this was wrought, This miracle; wrought with the blood, anguish and sweat Of toiling peasants, while the cobwebs cl.u.s.tered Around your lordly cellars of red wine.
Give him his five and let him go.
ABBOT
[_Going out._]
The King Shall hear of this! The King will hunt you down!
ROBIN
And now--the next!
SCARLET
Beseech you, sir, to rest, Your wound will--
ROBIN
No! The next, show me the next!
SCARLET
This Norman baron--
ROBIN
What, another friend!
Another master of broad territories.
How many homes were burned to make you lord Of half a shire? What hath he in his purse?
SCARLET
Gold and to spare!
BARON
To keep up mine estate I need much more.
ROBIN
[_Pointing to the poor._]
Ay, you need these! these! these!
BARON
[_Protesting._]
I am not rich.
ROBIN
Look in his purse and see.
BARON
You dogs, the King shall hear of it!
ROBIN
[_Murmuring as if to himself._]
Five loaves!
And yet, of what remained, they gathered up Twelve basketsful. The bread of human kindness Goes far! Oh, I begin to see new meanings In that old miracle! How much? How much?
SCARLET
Five hundred marks in gold!
ROBIN
[_Half rising and speaking with a sudden pa.s.sion._]
His churls are starving, Starving! Their little children cry for bread!
One of those jewels on his baldric there Would feed them all in plenty all their lives!
Five loaves--and yet--and yet--of what remained, The fragments, mark you, twelve great basketsful!
BARON
I am in a madman's power! The man is mad!
