TUCK. What, wench? my love?
JEN. Ay, gi't me when I crave it.
TUCK. Unask'd I offer; prythee, sweet girl, take it.
JEN. Gifts stink with proffer: foh! Friar, I forsake it.
TUCK. I will be kind.
JEN. Will not your kindness kill her?
TUCK. With love?
JEN. You cog.
TUCK. Tut, girl, I am no miller: Hear in your ear.
DON. The Friar courts her. [_Standing behind_.
PRIOR. Tush, let them alone; He is our Lady's Chaplain, but serves Joan.
DON. Then, from the Friar's fault, perchance, it may be The proverb grew, Joan's taken for my lady.
PRIOR. Peace, good Sir Doncaster, list to the end.
JEN. But mean ye faith and troth? shall I go wi' ye?
TUCK. Upon my faith, I do intend good faith.
JEN. And shall I have the pins and laces too, If I bear a pedlar's pack with you?
TUCK. As I am holy Friar, Jenny, thou shalt.
JEN. Well, there's my hand; see, Friar, you do not halt.
TUCK. Go but before into the miry mead, And keep the path that doth to Farnsfield lead; I'll into Southwell and buy all the knacks, That shall fit both of us for pedlar's packs.
JEN. Who be they two that yonder walk, I pray?
TUCK. Jenny, I know not: be they what they may, Scare not for them; prythee, do not stay, But make some speed, that we were gone away.
JEN. Well, Friar, I trust you that we go to Sherwood.
TUCK. Ay, by my beads, and unto Robin Hood.
JEN. Make speed, good Friar.
TUCK. Jenny, do not fear. [_Exit_ JENNY.
Lord Prior, now you hear, As much as I. Get me two pedlar's packs, Points, laces, looking-glasses, pins and knacks; And let Sir Doncaster with some wight lads Follow us close; and, ere these forty hours, Upon my life Earl Robert shall be ours.
PRIOR. Thou shalt have anything, my dearest Friar; And in amends I'll make thee my sub-prior.
Come, good Sir Doncaster, and if we thrive, We'll frolic with the nuns of Leeds, belive.[204]
[_Exeunt_.
_Enter_ FITZWATER, _like an old man_.
FITZ. Well did he write, and mickle did he know, That said this world's felicity was woe, Which greater states can hardly undergo.
Whilom Fitzwater, in fair England's court, Possess'd felicity and happy state, And in his hall blithe fortune kept her sport, Which glee one hour of woe did ruinate.
Fitzwater once had castles, towns, and towers, Fair gardens, orchards, and delightful bowers; But now nor garden, orchard, town, nor tower, Hath poor Fitzwater left within his power.
Only wide walks are left me in the world, Which these stiff limbs will hardly let me tread; And when I sleep, heaven's glorious canopy Me and my mossy couch doth overspread.
Of this injurious John cannot bereave me; The air and earth he (while I live) must leave me; But from the English air and earth, poor man, His tyranny hath ruthless thee exiled.
Yet e'er I leave it, I'll do what I can To see Matilda, my fair luckless child.
[_Curtains open_:--ROBIN HOOD _sleeps on a green bank, and_ MARIAN _strewing flowers on him_.
And in good time, see where my comfort stands, And by her lies dejected Huntington.
Look how my flow'r holds flowers in her hands, And flings those sweets upon my sleeping son.
I'll close mine eyes as if I wanted sight, That I may see the end of their delight.
[_Goes knocking with his staff_.
MAR. What aged man art thou? or by what chance Cam'st thou thus far into the wayless wood?
FITZ. Widow or wife, or maiden if thou be, Lend me thy hand; thou seest I cannot see: Blessing betide thee, little feel'st thou want; With me, good child, food is both hard and scant.
These smooth even veins assure me he is kind, Whate'er he be, my girl, that thee doth find.
I, poor and old, am reft of all earth's good, And desperately am crept into this wood To seek the poor man's patron, Robin Hood.
MAR. And thou art welcome: welcome, aged man, Ay, ten times welcome to Maid Marian.
Sit down, old father, sit, and call me daughter.
O God, how like he looks to old Fitzwater!
[_Runs in_.
FITZ. Is my Matilda call'd Maid Marian?
I wonder why her name is changed thus.
[MARIAN _brings wine, meat_.
MAR. Here's wine to cheer thy heart; drink, aged man: There's ven'son and a knife, here's manchet[205] fine: Drink, good old man, I pray you, drink more wine.
My Robin stirs; I must sing him asleep.
ROB. H. Nay, you have wak'd me, Marian, with your talk.
What man is that's come within our walk?
MAR. An aged man, a silly, sightless man, Near pin'd with hunger: see, how fast he eats.
ROB. H. Much good may't do him: never is good meat Ill-spent on such a stomach. Father, proface;[206]
To Robin Hood thou art a welcome man.
FITZ. I thank you, master. Are you Robin Hood?