KING. There is a porter likely to be hang'd For letting Gloster 'scape; sirrah, attend. You shall have a reprieve to bring him us. These boys are too-too stubborn, Lancaster; But 'tis their mother's fault. If thus she move me, I'll have her head, though all the world reprove me. [_Exeunt_. SCENE THE SIXTEENTH. _Enter_ ROBIN HOOD _and_ LADY FAUCONBRIDGE. LADY F. Do not deny me, gentle Huntington. ROB. My lord will miss me. LADY F. Tut, let me excuse thee. ROB. Turn, woman? O, it is intolerable! Except you promise me to play the page. Do that, try one night, and you'll laugh for ever To hear the orisons that lovers use: Their ceremonies, sighs, their idle oaths! To hear how you are prais'd and pray'd unto. For you are Richard's saint. They talk of Mary The blessed Virgin; but upon his beads He only prays to Marian Fauconbridge. LADY F. The more his error; but will you agree To be the Lady Fauconbridge one day? ROB. When is't? LADY. F. On Monday. ROB. Wherefore is't? LADY F. Nay, then, you do me wrong with inquisition, And yet I care not greatly if I tell thee. Thou seest my husband full of jealousy: Prince Richard in his suit importunate, My brother Gloster threat'ned by young Henry, To clear these doubts, I will in some disguise Go to Blackheath, unto the holy hermit, Whose wisdom, in foretelling things to come, Will let me see the issue of my cares. If destinies ordain me happiness, I'll chase these mists of sorrow from my heart With the bright sun of mirth; if fate agree To't[490], and my friends must suffer misery, Yet I'll be merry too, till mischief come. Only I long to know the worst of ill. ROB. I'll once put on a scarlet countenance. LADY F. Be wary, lest ye be discovered, Robin. ROB. Best paint me, then be sure I shall not blush. _Enter_ BLOCK _bleeding_, GLOSTER _with him_. BLO. Beat an officer, Redcap? I'll have ye talk'd withal! Beat Sir Richard's porter? help, madam, help! GLO. Peace, you damned rogue. LADY F. Brother, I pray you forbear. GLO. Zwounds! an hundred's at my heels almost, And yet the villain stands on compliment. BLO. A bots on[491] you, is't you? GLO. Will you to the door, you fool, and bar the gate? Hold, there's an angel for your broken pate: If any knock, let them not in in haste. BLO. Well, I will do, as I see cause; Blood, thou art dear to me. But here's a sovereign plaister for the sore: Gold healeth wounds, gold easeth hearts! What can a man have more? [_Exit_. LADY F. Dear brother, tell us how you made escape? GLO. You see I am here, but if you would know how, I cannot 'scape, and tell the manner too, By this I know your house is compassed With hell-hound search[492]. LADY F. Brother, I'll furnish you with beard and hair, And garment like my husband's. How like you that?