Chapter 3

_Enter_ ROBIN HOOD, LITTLE JOHN _following him; the one Earl of Huntington, the other his servant_, ROBIN _having his napkin on his shoulder, as if he were suddenly raised from dinner_.

ROB. H. As I am outlaw'd from my fame and state, Be this day outlawed from the name of days. Day luckless, outlaw luckless, both accurs'd! [_Flings away his napkin and hat, and sitteth down_.

LIT. JOHN. Do not forget your honourable state, Nor the true noblesse of your worthy house.

ROB. H. Do not persuade me; vain as vanity Are all thy comforts: I am comfortless.

LIT. JOHN. Hear me, my lord.

ROB. H. What shall I hear thee say? Already hast thou said too much to hear: Already hast thou stabb'd me with thy tongue, And the wide wound with words will not be clos'd. Am I not outlaw'd by the Prior of York? Proclaim'd in court, in city, and in town A lawless person? this thy tongue reports, And therefore seek not to make smooth my grief; For the rough storm thy windy words have rais'd, Will not be calm'd, till I in grave be laid.

LIT. JOHN. Have patience yet.

ROB. H. Yea, now indeed thou speakest. Patience hath power to bear a greater cross Than honour's spoil or any earthly loss.

LIT. JOHN. Do so, my lord.

ROB. H. Ay, now I would begin: But see, another scene of grief comes in.

_Enter_ MARIAN.[163]

MAR. Why is my lord so sad? wherefore so soon, So suddenly, arose ye from the board? Alas, my Robin! what distempering grief Drinks up the roseate colour of thy cheeks? Why art thou silent? answer me, my love.

ROB. H. Let him, let him, let him make thee as sad. He hath a tongue can banish thee from joy, And chase thy crimson colour from thy cheeks. Why speak'st thou not? I pray thee, Little John, Let the short story of my long distress Be utter'd in a word. What, mean'st thou to protract? Wilt thou not speak? then, Marian, list to me. This day thou wert a maid, and now a spouse, Anon, poor soul, a widow thou must be! Thy Robin is an outlaw, Marian; His goods and land must be extended on, Himself exil'd from thee, thou kept from him By the long distance of unnumbered miles. [_She sinks in his arms_. Faint'st thou at this? speak to me, Marian: My old love, newly met, part not so soon; We have a little time to tarry yet.

MAR. If but a little time, let me not stay Part we to-day, then will I die to-day!

LIT. JOHN. For shame, my lord! with courage of a man Bridle this over-grieving passion, Or else dissemble it to comfort her.

ROB. H. I like thy counsel. Marian, clear these clouds, And with the sunny beams of thy bright eyes Drink up these mists of sorrow that arise.

MAR. How can I joy, when thou art banished?

ROB. H. I tell thee, love, my grief is counterfeit; And I abruptly from the table rose, The banquet being almost at an end, Only to drive confused and sad thoughts [Out of][164] the minds of the invited guests. For, gentle love, at great or nuptial feasts, With comic sports or tragic stately plays We use to recreate the feasted guests, Which I am sure our kinsfolk do expect.

MAR. Of this, what then? this seems of no effect.

ROB. H. Why, thus of this: as Little John can tell, I had bespoken quaint comedians; But great John, John the prince, my liege's brother-- My rival, Marian, he that cross'd our love-- Hath cross'd me in this jest,[165] and at the court Employs the players should have made us sport. This was the tidings brought by Little John, That first disturbed me, and begot this thought Of sudden rising, which by this, I know, Hath with amazement troubled all our guests. Go in, good love: thou as the chorus shalt Express the meaning of my silent grief, Which is no more but this: I only mean (The more to honour our right noble friends) Myself in person to present some scenes Of tragic matter, or perchance of mirth, Even such as first shall jump with my conceit.

MAR. May I be bold thou hast the worst expressed?

LIT. JOHN. Fair mistress, all is true my lord hath said.

ROB. H. It is, it is.

MAR. Speak not so hollow then: So sigh and sadly speak true-sorrowing men.

ROB. H. Believe me, love, believe me (I beseech), My first scene tragic is, therefore tragic speech And accents filling woful action, I strive to get. I pray thee, sweet, Go in, and with thy sight appease The many doubts that may arise. That done, Be thou their usher, bring them to this place, And thou shalt see me with a lofty verse Bewitch the hearers' ears, and tempt their eyes To gaze upon the action that I use.

MAR. If it be but a play, I'll play my part: But sure some earnest grief affrights thy[166] heart.

LIT. JOHN. Let me entreat ye, madam, not to fear, For, by the honesty of Little John, It's but a tragic scene we have in hand, Only to fit the humour of the queen, Who is the chiefest at your troth-plight feast.

MAR. Then will I fetch her highness and the rest. [_Exit_.

ROB. H. Ay, that same jealous queen, whose doting age Envies the choice of my fair Marian, She hath a hand in this.

LIT. JOHN. Well, what of that? Now must your honour leave these mourning tunes, And thus by my areed you shall provide. Your plate and jewels I will straight pack up, And toward Nottingham convey them hence. At Rowford, Sowtham, Wortley, Hothersfield, Of all your cattle money shall be made; And I at Mansfield will attend your coming, Where we'll determine which way's best to take.

ROB. H. Well, be it so; a' God's name, let it be; And, if I can, Marian shall come with me.

LIT. JOHN. Else care will kill her. Therefore, if you please, At th'utmost corner of the garden wall, Soon in the evening wait for Marian; And as I go I'll tell her of the plan.[167] Your horses at the Bell shall ready be, I mean Belsavage;[168] whence as citizens, That mean[169] to ride for pleasure some small way, You shall set forth.

ROB. H. Be it as thou dost say. Farewell awhile: In spite of grief, thy love compels me smile, But now our audience comes, we must look sad.[170]

_Enter_ QUEEN ELINOR, MARIAN, SENTLOE, LACY, BROUGHTON, WARMAN, _Robin's steward. As they meet_, LITTLE JOHN _whispers with_ MARIAN, _and exit_.

QU. ELIN. How now, my Lord of Huntington? The mistress of your love, fair Marian, Tells us your sudden rising from the banquet Was but a humour which you mean to purge In some high tragic lines or comic jests.

ROB. H. Sit down, fair queen (the prologue's part is play'd; Marian hath told ye, what I bad her tell): Sit down, Lord Sentloe, cousin Lacy, sit: Sir Gilbert Broughton, yea, and Warman, sit: Though you my steward be, yet for your gathering wit I give you place: sit down, sit down, I say: God's pity! sit: it must, it must be so, For you will sit when I shall stand, I know. [_Sits them all down_. And, Marian, you may sit among the rest, I pray ye do, or else rise, stand apart: These helps shall be beholders of my smart-- You that with ruthless eyes my sorrows see, And came prepar'd to feast at my sad fall, Whose envy, greediness, and jealousy Afford me sorrow endless, comfort small, Know what you knew before, what you ordain'd To cross the spousal banquet of my love, That I am outlaw'd by the Prior of York, My traitorous uncle and your toothless friend. Smile you, Queen Elinor? laugh'st thou, Lord Sentloe? Lacy, look'st thou so blithe at my lament? Broughton, a smooth brow graceth your stern face; And you are merry, Warman, at my moan. The Queen except, I do you all defy! You are a sort[171] of fawning sycophants, That, while the sunshine of my greatness 'dur'd, Revelled out all my day for your delights; And now ye see the black night of my woe O'ershade the beauty of my smiling good, You to my grief add grief; and are agreed With that false Prior to reprieve my joys From execution of all happiness.

WAR. Your honour thinks not ill of me, I hope.

ROB. H. Judas speaks first, with "Master, is it I?" No, my false steward; your accounts are true; You have dishonour'd me, I worshipp'd[172] you. You from a paltry pen-and-inkhorn clerk, Bearing a buckram-satchel at your belt, Unto a justice' place I did prefer; Where you unjustly have my tenants rack'd, Wasted my treasure, and increas'd your store. Your sire contented with a cottage poor, Your mastership hath halls and mansions built; Yet are you innocent, as clear from guilt As is the ravenous mastiff that hath spilt The blood of a whole flock, yet slyly comes And couches in his kennel with smear'd chaps. Out of my house! for yet my house it is, And follow him, ye catchpole-bribed grooms; For neither are ye lords nor gentlemen, That will be hired to wrong a nobleman: For hired ye were last night, I know it, I, To be my guests, my faithless guests this day, That your kind host you trothless might betray. But hence, and help the Sheriff at the door, Your worst attempt. Fell traitors, as you be, Avoid, or I will execute ye all Ere any execution come at me! [_They run away_. They run[173] away, so ends the tragedy. (_Aside_) Marian, by Little John, my mind you know: If you will, do; if not, why be it so. [_Offers to go in_.

QU. ELIN. No words to me, Earl Robert, ere you go?

ROB. H. O, to your highness? yes; adieu, proud queen; Had not you been, thus poor I had not been. [_Exit_.

QU. ELIN. Thou wrong'st me, Robert Earl of Huntington, And were it not for pity of this maid, I would revenge the words that thou hast said.

MAR. Add not, fair queen, distress unto distress, But, if you can, for pity make his less.

QU. ELIN. I can and will forget deserving hate, And give him comfort in this woful state. Marian, I know Earl Robert's whole desire Is to have thee with him from hence away; And though I lov'd him dearly to this day, Yet since I see he deadlier loveth thee, Thou shalt have all the furtherance I may. Tell me, fair girl, and see thou truly tell, Whether this night, to-morrow, or next day, There be no 'pointment for to meet thy love?

MAR. There is, this night there is, I will not lie; And, be it disappointed, I shall die.

QU. ELIN. Alas, poor soul! my son, Prince John, my son, With several troops hath circuited the court, This house, the city, that thou canst not 'scape.

MAR. I will away with Death, though he be grim, If they deny me to go hence with him.

QU. ELIN. Marian, Thou shalt go with him clad in my attire, And for a shift I'll put thy garments on. It is not me my son John doth desire, But, Marian, it is thee he doteth on. When thou and I are come into the field, Or any other place, where Robin stays, Me in thy clothes the ambush will beset; Thee in my robes they dare not once approach: So, while with me a-reasoning they stay, At pleasure thou with him may'st ride away.

MAR. I am beholding to your majesty, And of this plot will send my Robin word.

QU. ELIN. Nay, never trouble him, lest it breed suspect: But get thee in, and shift off thy attire: My robe is loose, and it will soon be off. Go, gentle Marian, I will follow thee, And from betrayers' hands will set thee free.

MAR. I thank your highness, but I will not trust ye: My Robert shall have knowledge of this shift, For I conceive already your deep drift. [_Aside. Exit_.

QU. ELIN. Now shall I have my will of Huntington Who, taking me this night for Marian, Will hurry me away instead of her; For he dares not stand trifling to confer. Faith, pretty Marian, I shall meet with you,[174] And with your lovely sweetheart Robert too: For when we come unto a baiting-place, If with like love my love he do not grace, Of treason capital I will accuse him, For trait'rous forcing me out of the court, And guerdon his disdain with guilty death, That of a prince's love so lightly weighs.

[_Exit_.