Vanish? JOHN I would not Kill him too quickly. I would have him taken To a dungeon that I know. ELINOR You have laid your trap Already? Tell me. You need not be afraid! I saw them kiss, in the garden, yesternight; And I have wondered, ever since, if fire Could make a brand quite hot enough to stamp My hate upon him. JOHN Well, then, I will tell you-- The plan is laid; and, if his bag of gold Rejoice one serf to-day, then I'll resign Maid Marian to his loving arms for ever. But you must help me, mother, or she'll suspect. Do not let slip your mask of friendliness, As I have feared. Look--there our lovers come Beneath that arch of roses. Look, look, mother, They are taking leave of one another now, A ghastly parting, for he will be gone Well nigh four hours, they think. To look at them, One might suppose they knew it was for ever. ELINOR Come, or my hate will show itself in my face: I must not see them. [_Exeunt PRINCE and ELINOR. A pause. Enter ROBIN HOOD and MARIAN._] ROBIN So, good-bye, once more, Sweetheart. MARIAN Four hours; how shall I pass the time? Four hours, four ages, you will scarce be home By dusk; how shall I pass it? ROBIN You've to think What robe to wear at the great masque to-night And then to don it. When you've done all that I shall be home again. MARIAN What, not before? ROBIN That's not unlikely, either. MARIAN Now you mock me, But you'll be back before the masque begins. ROBIN I warrant you I will. MARIAN It is a month To-day since we were married. Did you know it? Fie, I believe you had forgotten, Robin. ROBIN I had, almost. If marriage make the moons Fly, as this month has flown, we shall be old And grey in our graves before we know it. I wish that we could chain old Father Time. MARIAN And break his glass into ten thousand pieces. ROBIN And drown his cruel scythe ten fathom deep, Under the bright blue sea whence Love was born: MARIAN Ah, but we have not parted all this month More than a garden's breadth, an arrow's flight: Time will be dead till you come back again. Four hours of absence make four centuries! Do you remember how the song goes, Robin, That bids true lovers not to grieve at parting Often? for Nature gently severs them thus, Training them up with kind and tender art, For the great day when they must part for ever. ROBIN Do you believe it, Marian? MARIAN