I've sent A messenger to Kirklee Priory, Where my old friend the Prioress hath store Of balms and simples, and hath often helped A wounded forester. Could we take him there, Her skill would quickly heal him. LITTLE JOHN The time is pressing! FRIAR TUCK The lad will not be long! [_ROBIN appears tottering and white at the mouth of the cave._] MARIAN [_Running to him._] O Robin, Robin, You must not rise! Your wound! ROBIN [_He speaks feverishly._] Where can I rest Better than on my greenwood throne of turf? Friar, I heard them say they had some prisoners. Bring them before me. FRIAR TUCK Master, you are fevered, And they can wait. ROBIN Yes, yes; but there are some That cannot wait, that die for want of food, And then--the Norman gold will come too late, Too late. LITTLE JOHN O master, you must rest. [_Going up to him._] MARIAN Oh, help me, Help me with him. Help me to lead him back. ROBIN No! No! You must not touch me! I will rest When I have seen the prisoners, not before. LITTLE JOHN He means it, mistress, better humour him Or he will break his wound afresh. MARIAN O Robin, Give me your word that you'll go back and rest, When you have seen them. ROBIN Yes, I will try, I will try! But oh, the sunlight! Where better, sweet, than this? [_She leads him to the throne of turf and he sits down upon it, with MARIAN at his side._] The Friar is right. This life is wine, red wine, Under the greenwood boughs! Oh, still to keep it, One little glen of justice in the midst Of multitudinous wrong. Who knows? We yet May leaven the whole world. [_Enter the Outlaws, with several prisoners, among them, a KNIGHT, an ABBOT, and a FORESTER._] Those are the prisoners? You had some victims of the forest laws That came to you for help. Bring them in, too, And set them over against these lords of the earth! [_Some ragged women and children appear. Several serfs with iron collars round their necks and their eyes put out, are led gently in._] Is that our Lincoln green among the prisoners? There? One of my own band? LITTLE JOHN Ay, more's the pity! We took him out of pity, and he has wronged Our honour, sir; he has wronged a helpless woman Entrusted to his guidance thro' the forest. ROBIN