DON. Or, as I said, For ever I'll defy your company.
PRIOR. Well, he shall die, and in his jollity: And in my head I have a policy To make him die disgrac'd.
DON. O, tell it, Prior!
PRIOR. I will, but not as now; [_Call the_ FRIAR _within_.
We'll seek a place: the woods have many ears, And some, methinks, are calling for the Friar.[263]
_Enter_ LITTLE JOHN _and_ SCATHLOCK, _calling the_ FRIAR, _as before_.
LIT. JOHN. The Friar! the Friar!
SCATH. Why, where's this Friar?
_Enter_ FRIAR TUCK.
FRIAR. Here, sir: what is your desire?
_Enter_ ROBIN HOOD _and_ WARMAN.[264]
ROB. H. Why, Friar, what a murrain dost thou mean?
The king calls for thee; for a mighty stag (That hath a copper-ring about his neck With letters on it, which he would have read) Hath Scarlet kill'd. I pray thee, go thy way.
FRIAR. Master, I will: no longer will I stay.
[_Exit_ FRIAR TUCK, LITTLE JOHN, _and_ SCATHLOCK.
ROB. H. Good uncle, be more careful of your health, And yours, Sir Doncaster; your wounds are green.
BOTH. Through your great kindness we are comforted.
ROB. H. And, Warman, I advise you to more mirth.
Shun solitary walks, keep company: Forget your fault; I have forgiv'n the fault, Good Warman, be more blithe; and at this time A little help my Marian and her maid.
Much shall come to you straight: a little now We must all strive to do the best we may.
[_Exit winding_.[265]
WAR. On you and her I'll wait until my dying day.
[WARMAN _is going out_; DONCASTER _pulls him_.
DON. Warman, a word. My good Lord Prior and I Are full of grief to see thy misery.
WAR. My misery, Sir Doncaster? why, I thank God, I never was in better state than now.
PRIOR. Why, what a servile slavish mind hast thou!
Art thou a man, and canst be such a beast, Ass-like to bear the burthen of thy wrongs?
WAR. What wrong have I? is't wrong to be reliev'd?
DON. Reliev'd, say'st thou? why, shallow-witted fool, Dost thou not see Robin's ambitious pride, And how he climbs by pitying, and aspires By humble looks, good deeds, and such fond toys, To be a monarch reigning over us, As if we were the vassals to his will?
WAR. I am his vassal, and I will be still.
PRIOR. Warman, thou art a fool. I do confess, Were these good deeds done in sincerity-- Pity of mine, thine[266] or this knight's distress, Without vain brags--it were true charity: But to relieve our fainting bodies' wants, And grieve our souls with quips and bitter 'braids, Is good turns overturn'd: no thanks we owe To any whatsoever helps us so.
WAR. Neither himself nor any that he keeps Ever upbraided me, since I came last.
DON. O God, have mercy on thee, silly ass!
Doth he not say to every guest that comes, This same is Warman, that was once my steward?
WAR. And what of that?
PRIOR. Is't not as much to say, Why, here he stands that once did me betray?
DON. Did he not bring a troop to grace himself, Like captives waiting on a conqueror's chair, And calling of them out by one and one, Presented them, like fairings, to the king?[267]
PRIOR. O, ay: there was a rare invention.
A plague upon the fool!
I hate him worse for that than all the rest.
WAR. Why should you hate him? why should you--or you-- Envy this noble lord thus, as you do?
DON. Nay rather, why dost thou not join in hate With us, that lately liv'd, like us, in wealthy state?
Remember this, remember, foolish man, How thou hast been the Shrieve of Nottingham.
PRIOR. Cry to thy thoughts, let this thought never cease-- "I have been justice of my sovereign's peace, Lord of fair livings; men with cap and knee In liveries waited hourly on me."
DON. And when thou think'st thou hast been such and such, Think then what 'tis to be a mate to Much?
To run when Robin bids, come at his call, Be Mistress Marian's man.
PRIOR. Nay, think withal--
WAR. What shall I think, but think upon my need, When men fed dogs, and me they would not feed?
When I despair'd through want, and sought to die, My piteous master, of his charity, Forgave my fault, reliev'd and saved me.
This do I think upon; and you should think (If you had hope of soul's salvation)-- First, Prior, that he is of thy flesh and blood, That thou art uncle unto Robin Hood; That by extortion thou didst get his lands-- God and I know how it came to thy hands: How thou pursued'st him in his misery, And how heaven plagued thy heart's extremity.
Think, Doncaster, when, hired by this Prior, Thou cam'st to take my master with the Friar, And wert thyself ta'en; how he set thee free, Gave thee an hundred pound to comfort thee.
And both bethink ye, how but yesterday Wounded and naked in the field you lay; How with his own hand he did raise your heads, Pour'd balm into your wounds, your bodies fed, Watch'd when ye slept, wept when he saw your woe--
DON. Stay, Warman, stay! I grant that he did so; And you, turn'd honest, have forsworn the villain?
WAR. Even from my soul I villany defy.
PRIOR. A blessed hour; a fit time now to die.
DON. And you shall, conscience.
[_Stabs him_, WARMAN _falls_.