MARGARET I cannot tell. To an indifferent eye both shew alike. 'Tis not the scene, But all familiar objects in the scene, Which now ye miss, that constitute a difference. Ye had a country, exiles, ye have none now; Friends had ye, and much wealth, ye now have nothing; Our manners, laws, our customs, all are foreign to you, I know ye loathe them, cannot learn them readily; And there is reason, exiles, ye should love Our English earth less than your land of France, Where grows the purple vine; where all delights grow, Old custom has made pleasant. SIR WALTER You, that are read So deeply in our story, what are you? MARGARET A bare adventurer; in brief a woman, That put strange garments on, and came thus far To seek an ancient friend: And having spent her stock of idle words, And feeling some tears coming, Hastes now to clasp Sir Walter Woodvil's knees, And beg a boon for Margaret, his poor ward. (_Kneeling_.) SIR WALTER Not at my feet, Margaret, not at my feet. MARGARET Yes, till her suit is answer'd. SIR WALTER Name it. MARGARET A little boon, and yet so great a grace, She fears to ask it. SIR WALTER Some riddle, Margaret? MARGARET No riddle, but a plain request. SIR WALTER Name it. MARGARET Free liberty of Sherwood, And leave to take her lot with you in the forest. SIR WALTER A scant petition, Margaret, but take it, Seal'd with an old man's tears.-- Rise, daughter of Sir Rowland. (_Addresses them both._) O you most worthy, You constant followers of a man proscribed, Following poor misery in the throat of danger; Fast servitors to craz'd and penniless poverty, Serving poor poverty without hope of gain; Kind children of a sire unfortunate; Green clinging tendrils round a trunk decay'd, Which needs must bring on you timeless decay; Fair living forms to a dead carcase join'd;-- What shall I say? Better the dead were gather'd to the dead, Than death and life in disproportion meet.-- Go, seek your fortunes, children.-- SIMON Why, whither should we go? SIR WALTER _You_ to the Court, where now your brother John Commits a rape on Fortune. SIMON Luck to John! A light-heel'd strumpet, when the sport is done. SIR WALTER _You_ to the sweet society of your equals, Where the world's fashion smiles on youth and beauty. MARGARET Where young men's flatteries cozen young maids' beauty, There pride oft gets the vantage hand of duty, There sweet humility withers. SIMON Mistress Margaret, How fared my brother John, when you left Devon? MARGARET John was well, Sir.