JOHN. Nay, hale him hence! and hear you, old Fitzwater: See that you stay not five days in the realm. For if you do, you die remediless. FITZ. Speak, lords: do you confirm what he hath said? ALL. He is our prince, and he must be obey'd. FITZ. Hearken, Earl John! but one word will I say. JOHN. I will not hear thee; neither will I stay. Thou know'st thy time. [_Exit_ JOHN. FITZ. Will not your highness hear? QUEEN. No: thy Matilda robb'd me of my dear. [_Exit_ QUEEN. FITZ. I aided thee in battle, Salisbury. SAL. Prince John is mov'd; I dare not stay with thee. [_Exit_ SALISBURY.[199] FITZ. 'Gainst thee and Ely, Chester, was I foe, And dost thou stay to aggravate my woe? CHES. No, good Fitzwater; Chester doth lament Thy wrong, thy sudden banishment. Whence grew the quarrel 'twixt the prince and thee? FITZ. Chester, the devil tempted old Fitzwater To be a pander to his only daughter; And my great heart, impatient, forc'd my hand, In my true honour's right to challenge him. Alas the while! wrong will not be reprov'd. CHES. Farewell, Fitzwater: wheresoe'er thou be, By letters, I beseech thee, send to me. [_Exit_ CHESTER. FITZ. Chester, I will, I will. Heavens turn to good this woe, this wrong, this ill. [_Exit_. SCENE II. _Enter_ SCATHLOCK _and_ SCARLET, _winding their horns, at several doors. To them enter_ ROBIN HOOD, MATILDA, _all in green_, SCATHLOCK'S MOTHER, MUCH, LITTLE JOHN: _all the men with bows and arrows_. ROB. H. Widow, I wish thee homeward now to wend, Lest Warman's malice work thee any wrong. WID. Master, I will; and mickle good attend On thee, thy love, and all these yeomen strong. MAT. Forget not, widow, what you promis'd me. MUCH. O, ay, mistress; for God's sake let's have Jenny. WID. You shall have Jenny sent you with all speed. Sons, farewell, and, by your mother's reed, Love well your master: blessing ever fall On him, your mistress, and these yeomen tall. [_Exit_. MUCH. God be with you, mother: have much mind, I pray, on Much your son, and your daughter Jenny. ROB. H. Wind once more, jolly huntsmen, all your horns; Whose shrill sound, with the echoing wood's assist, Shall ring a sad knell for the fearful deer, Before our feathered shafts, death's winged darts, Bring sudden summons for their fatal ends.