A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Viii Part 33

SCATH. He says my master late Gave him his fee and livery.

FRIAR. It is a leasing, credit me.

How chance, sir, then you were not sworn?

JOHN. What mean this groom and lozel friar, So strictly matters to inquire?

Had I a sword and buckler here, You should aby these questions dear.

FRIAR. Say'st thou me so, lad? lend him thine, For in this bush here lieth mine.

Now will I try this new-come guest.

SCATH. I am his first man, Friar Tuck, And if I fail, and have no luck, Then thou with him shalt have a pluck.

FRIAR. Be it so, Scathlock. Hold thee, lad, No better weapons can be had: The dew doth them a little rust; But, hear ye, they are tools of trust.[239]

JOHN. Gramercy, Friar, for this gift, And if thou come unto my shrift, I'll make thee call those fellows fools That on their foes bestow such tools.

SCATH. Come, let's to't.

[_Fight, and the_ FRIAR _looks on_.

FRIAR. The youth is deliver[240] and light, He presseth Scathlock with his might: Now, by my beads, to do him right, I think he be some tried knight.

SCATH. Stay, let us breathe!

JOHN. I will not stay; If you leave, Friar, come away.

SCATH. I prythee, Friar, hold him play.

FRIAR. Friar Tuck will do the best he may.

[_Fight_.

_Enter_ MARIAN.

MAR. Why, what a noise of swords is here!

Fellows, and fight our bower so near?

SCATH. Mistress, he is no man of yours, That fights so fast with Friar Tuck; But, on my word, he is a man As good for strength as any can.

MAR. Indeed, he's more than common men can be; In his high heart there dwells the blood of kings.

Go call my Robin, Scathlock: [_Aside_] 'tis Prince John.

SCATH. Mistress, I will: I pray [thee] part the fray. [_Exit_.

MAR. I prythee go, I will do what I may.

Friar, I charge thee hold thy hand.

FRIAR. Nay, younker, to your tackling stand.

What, all amort,[241] will you not fight?

JOHN. I yield, unconquer'd by thy might, But by Matilda's glorious sight.

FRIAR. Mistress, he knows you: what is he?

JOHN. Like to amazing wonder she appears, And from her eye flies love unto my heart, Attended by suspicious thoughts and fears That numb the vigour of each outward part.

Only my sight hath all satiety And fulness of delight, viewing her deity.

MAR. But I have no delight in you, Prince John.

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 l.u.s.ty 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 s.h.i.+eld.