ROBIN GOODFELLOW. Faith, sir, I am in a manner a promoter, Or (more fitly term'd) a promoting knave; I creep into the presence of great men, And, under colour of their friendships, Effect such wonders in the world, That babes will curse me that are yet unborn. Of the best men I raise a common fame, And honest women rob of their good name: Thus daily tumbling in comes all my thrift; That I get best, is got but by a shift: But the chief course of all my life Is to set discord betwixt man and wife. FORTUNATUS. Out upon thee, cannibal! [_He beats him_. Dost thou think thou shalt ever come to heaven? ROBIN GOODFELLOW. I little hope for heav'n or heavenly bliss: But if in hell doth any place remain Of more esteem than is another room, I hope, as guerdon for my just desert, To have it for my detestable acts. FORTUNATUS. Were't not thy tongue condemns thy guilty soul, I could not think that on this living earth Did breathe a villain more audacious. Go, get thee gone, and come not in my walk; [_Beats him_. For, if thou dost, thou com'st unto thy woe. ROBIN GOODFELLOW. The devil himself was never conjur'd so. [_Exit_ ROBIN. SOPHOS. Sure, he's no man, but an incarnate devil, Whose ugly shape bewrays his monstrous mind. FORTUNATUS. And if he be a devil, I am sure he's gone: But Churms the lawyer will be here anon, And with him comes my sister Lelia; 'Tis he I am sure you look for. SOPHOS. Nay, she it is that I expect so long. FORTUNATUS. Then sit we down, until we hear more news, This but a prologue to our play ensues. [_They sit down_. _Enter_ CHURMS _and_ LELIA. But see where Churms and Lelia comes along: He walks as stately as the great baboon. Zounds, he looks as though his mother were a midwife. SOPHOS. Now, gentle Jove, great monarch of the world, Grant good success unto my wand'ring hopes. CHURMS. Now Phoebus' silver eye is drench'd in western deep, And Luna 'gins to show her splendent rays, And all the harmless quiristers of woods Do take repose, save only Philomel; Whose heavy tunes do evermore record With mournful lays the losses of her love. Thus far, fair love, we pass in secret sort Beyond the compass of thy father's bounds, Whilst he on down-soft bed securely sleeps, And not so much as dreams of our depart The dangers pass'd, now think on nought but love; I'll be thy dear, be thou my heart's delight. SOPHOS. Nay, first I'll send thy soul to coal-black night. [_Aside_.] CHURMS. Thou promis'dst love, now seal it with a kiss. FORTUNATUS. Nay, soft, sir; your mark is at the fairest. Forswear her love, and seal it with a kiss Upon the burnish'd splendour of this blade, Or it shall rip the entrails of thy peasant heart. SOPHOS. Nay, let me do it, that's my part. CHURMS. You wrong me much, to rob me of my love. SOPHOS. Avaunt, base braggard! Lelia's mine. CHURMS. She lately promis'd love to me.