A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Volume 08
General
A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Volume 08
English drama
FRIAR. Is this Prince John?
Give me thy hand, thou art a proper man:
And for this morning's work, by saints above,
Be ever sure of Friar Tuck's true love.
JOHN. Be not offended that I touch thy shrine;
Make this hand happy: let it fold in thine.
_Enter_ ROBIN HOOD, FITZWATER, ELY, WARMAN.
ROB. H. What saucy woodman, Marian, stands so near?
JOHN. A woodman, Robin, that would strike your deer
With all his heart. Nay, never look so strange,
You see this fickle world is full of change:
John is a ranger, man, compell'd to range.
FITZ. You are young, wild lord, and well may travel bear.
JOHN. What, my old friend Fitzwater, are you there?
And you, Lord Ely? and old best-betruss'd?[242]
Then I perceive that to this gear we must.
A mess of my good friends! which of you four
Will purchase thanks by yielding to the king
The body of the rash, rebellious John?
Will you, Fitzwater?
FITZ. No, John, I defy[243]
To stain my old hands in thy youthful blood.
JOHN. You will, Lord Ely; I am sure you will.
ELY. Be sure, young man, my age means thee no ill.
JOHN. O, you will have the praise, brave Robin Hood.
The lusty outlaw, lord of this large wood:
He'll lead a king's son prisoner to a king,
And bid the brother smite the brother dead.
ROB. H. My purpose you have much misconstrued:
Prince John, I would not for the wide world's wealth
Incense his majesty, but do my best
To mitigate his wrath, if he be mov'd.
JOHN. Will none of you? then, here's one I dare say,
That from his childhood knows how to betray:
Warman, will you not help to hinder all you may?
WAR. With what I have been, twit me not, my lord:
My old sins at my soul I do detest.
JOHN. Then, that he came this way Prince John was blest.
Forgive me, Ely; pardon me, Fitzwater:
And Robin, to thy hands myself I yield.
ROB. H. And as my heart from hurt I will thee shield.
_Enter_ MUCH, _running_.
MUCH. Master, fly! hide ye, mistress! we all shall be taken.
ROB. H. Why, what's the matter?
MUCH. The king! the king! and twelve and twenty score of horses.
ROB. H. Peace, fool! we have no cause from him to fly.
_Enter_ SCARLET, LITTLE JOHN.
LIT. JOHN. Scarlet and I were hunting on the plain;
To us came royal Richard from his train,
For a great train of his is hard at hand,
And questioned us if we serv'd Robin Hood?
I said we did; and then his majesty,
Putting this massy chain about my neck,
Said what I shame to say, but joy'd to hear.
Let Scarlet tell it, it befits not me.
SCAR. Quoth our good king, Thy name is Little John,
And thou hast long time serv'd Earl Huntington:
Because thou left'st him not in misery,
A hundred marks I give thee yearly fee,
And from henceforth thou shalt a squire be.
MUCH. O lord, what luck had I to run away!
I should have been made a knight or a lady, sure.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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