SCAR. It's full seven years since we were outlaw'd first, And wealthy Sherwood was our heritage: For all those years we reigned uncontroll'd, From Barnsdale shrogs to Nottingham's red cliffs; At Blithe and Tickhill were we welcome guests. Good George-a-Greene at Bradford was our friend, And wanton Wakefield's Pinner[200] lov'd us well. At Barnsley dwells a potter tough and strong, That never brook'd we brethren should have wrong. The nuns of Farnsfield (pretty nuns they be) Gave napkins, shirts, and bands to him and me. Bateman of Kendal gave us Kendal green, And Sharpe of Leeds sharp arrows for us made: At Rotheram dwelt our bowyer, God him bless; Jackson he hight, his bows did never miss. This for our good--our scathe let Scathlock tell, In merry Mansfield how it once befell. SCATH. In merry Mansfield, on a wrestling day, Prizes there were, and yeomen came to play; My brother Scarlet and myself were twain. Many resisted, but it was in vain, For of them all we won the mastery, And the gilt wreaths were given to him and me. There by Sir Doncaster of Hothersfield We were bewray'd, beset, and forc'd to yield, And so borne bound from thence to Nottingham, Where we lay doom'd to death till Warman came. ROB. H. Of that enough. What cheer, my dearest love? MUCH. O, good cheer anon, sir; she shall have venison her bellyful. MAT. Matilda is as joyful of thy good As joy can make her: how fares Robin Hood? ROB. H. Well, my Matilda, and if thou agree, Nothing but mirth shall wait on thee and me. MAT. O God, how full of perfect mirth were I To see thy grief turn'd to true jollity! ROB. H. Give me thy hand; now God's curse on me light, If I forsake not grief, in griefs despite. Much, make a cry, and, yeomen, stand ye round: I charge ye never more let woful sound Be heard among ye; but whatever fall, Laugh grief to scorn, and so make sorrow small, Much, make a cry, and loudly: Little John. MUCH. O God, O God! help, help, help! I am undone, I am undone! LIT. JOHN. Why, how now, Much? Peace, peace, you roaring slave. MUCH. My master bad me cry, and I will cry till he bid me leave. Help, help, help! Ay, marry will I. ROB. H. Peace, Much. Read on the articles, good John. LIT. JOHN. First, no man must presume to call our master By name of Earl, Lord, Baron, Knight, or Squire; But simply by the name of Robin Hood. ROB. H. Say, yeomen, to this order will ye yield? ALL. We yield to serve our master, Robin Hood. LIT. JOHN. Next, 'tis agreed, if thereto she agree, That fair Matilda henceforth change her name, And while it is the chance of Robin Hood To live in Sherwood a poor outlaw's life, She by Maid Marian's name be only call'd. MAT. I am contented; read on, Little John: Henceforth let me be nam'd Maid Marian. LIT. JOHN. Thirdly, no yeoman, following Robin Hood In Sherwood, shall [ab]use widow, wife, or maid; But by true labour lustful thoughts expel. ROB. H. How like ye this? ALL. Master, we like it well.