AUT. Now, I beseech your honour it may be so.

SUM. With all my heart. Vertumnus, go for them.

WILL SUM. This same Harry Baker[127] is such a necessary fellow to go on errands as you shall not find in a country. It is pity but he should have another silver arrow, if it be but for crossing the stage with his cap on.

SUM. To weary out the time, until they come, Sing me some doleful ditty to the lute, That may complain my near-approaching death.

_The Song.

Adieu, farewell, earth's bliss; This world uncertain is. Fond are life's lustful joys, Death proves them all but toys. None from his darts can fly: I am sick, I must die. Lord, have mercy on us!

Rich men, trust not in wealth; Gold cannot buy you health. Physic himself must fade: All things to end are made. The plague full swift goes by. I am sick, I must die. Lord, have mercy on us!

Beauty is but a flower, Which wrinkles will devour: Brightness falls from the air; Queens have died young and fair. Dust hath clos'd Helen's eye. I am sick, I must die. Lord, have mercy on us!

Strength stoops into the grave: Worms feed on Hector brave. Swords may not fight with fate: Earth still holds ope her gate. Come, come, the hells do cry. I am sick, I must die. Lord, have mercy on us!

Wit with his wantonness Tasteth death's bitterness. Hell's executioner Hath no ears to hear, What vain art can reply. I am sick, I must die. Lord, have mercy on us!

Haste therefore each degree To welcome destiny: Heaven is our heritage, Earth but a player's stage. Mount we unto the sky. I am sick, I must die. Lord, have mercy on us_!

SUM. Beshrew me, but thy song hath moved me.

WILL SUM. "Lord, have mercy on us," how lamentable 'tis!

Enter VERTUMNUS, with CHRISTMAS and BACKWINTER.

VER. I have despatched, my lord; I have brought you them you sent me for.

WILL SUM. What say'st thou? hast thou made a good batch? I pray thee, give me a new loaf![128]

SUM. Christmas, how chance thou com'st not as the rest, Accompanied with some music or some song? A merry carol would have grac'd thee well: Thy ancestors have us'd it heretofore.

CHRIST. Ay, antiquity was the mother of ignorance: this latter world, that sees but with her spectacles, hath spied a pad in those sports more than they could.

SUM. What, is't against thy conscience for to sing?

CHRIST. No, not to say, by my troth, if I may get a good bargain.

SUM. Why, thou should'st spend, thou should'st not care to get: Christmas is god of hospitality.

CHRIST. So will he never be of good husbandry. I may say to you, there is many an old god that is now grown out of fashion; so is the god of hospitality.

SUM. What reason canst thou give he should be left?

CHRIST. No other reason, but that gluttony is a sin, and too many dunghills are infectious. A man's belly was not made for a powdering beef-tub; to feed the poor twelve days, and let them starve all the year after, would but stretch out the guts wider than they should be, and so make famine a bigger den in their bellies than he had before. I should kill an ox, and have some such fellow as Milo to come and eat it up at a mouthful; or, like the Sybarites,[129] do nothing all one year but bid guests against the next year. The scraping of trenchers you think would put a man to no charges: it is not a hundred pound a year would serve the scullion in dishclouts. My house stands upon vaults; it will fall, if it be overladen with a multitude. Besides, have you never read of a city that was undermined and destroyed by moles? So, say I, keep hospitality and a whole fair of beggars bid me to dinner every day. What with making legs[130], when they thank me at their going away, and settling their wallets handsomely on their backs, they would shake as many lice on the ground as were able to undermine my house, and undo me utterly. Is it their prayers would build it again, if it were overthrown by this vermin, would it? I pray, who began feasting and gormandis[ing] first, but Sardanapalus, Nero, Heliogabalus, Commodus? tyrants, whoremasters, unthrifts. Some call them emperors, but I respect no crowns but crowns in the purse. Any man may wear a silver crown that hath made a fray in Smithfield, and lost but a piece of his brain-pan; and to tell you plain, your golden crowns are little better in substance, and many times got after the same sort.

SUM. Gross-headed sot! how light he makes of state!

AUT. Who treadeth not on stars, when they are fall'n? Who talketh not of states, when they are dead? A fool conceits no further than he sees, He hath no sense of aught but what he feels.

CHRIST. Ay, ay; such wise men as you come to beg at such fools' doors as we be.

AUT. Thou shutt'st thy door; how should we beg of thee? No alms but thy sink carries from thy house.

WILL SUM. And I can tell you that's as plentiful alms for the plague as the Sheriff's tub to them of Newgate.

AUT. For feast thou keepest none; cankers thou feed'st. The worms will curse thy flesh another day, Because it yieldeth them no fatter prey.

CHRIST. What worms do another day, I care not, but I'll be sworn upon a whole kilderkin of single beer, I will not have a worm-eaten nose, like a pursuivant, while I live. Feasts are but puffing up of the flesh, the purveyors for diseases; travel, cost, time, ill-spent. O, it were a trim thing to send, as the Romans did, round about the world for provision for one banquet. I must rig ships to Samos for peacocks; to Paphos for pigeons; to Austria for oysters; to Phasis for pheasants; to Arabia for phoenixes; to Meander for swans; to the Orcades for geese; to Phrygia for woodcocks; to Malta for cranes; to the Isle of Man for puffins; to Ambracia for goats; to Tartole for lampreys; to Egypt for dates; to Spain for chestnuts—and all for one feast.

WILL SUM. O sir, you need not: you may buy them at London better cheap.

CHRIST. Liberalitas liberalitate perit; Love me little, and love me long[131]: our feet must have wherewithal to feed the stones: our backs, walls of wool to keep out the cold that besiegeth our warm blood; our doors must have bars, our doublets must have buttons. Item, for an old sword to scrape the stones before the door with; three halfpence for stitching a wooden tankard that was burst. These water-bearers will empty the conduit and a man's coffers at once. Not a porter that brings a man a letter but will have his penny. I am afraid to keep past one or two servants, lest (hungry knaves) they should rob me; and those I keep (I warrant) I do not pamper up too lusty. I keep them under with red herring and poor John all the year long. I have dammed up all my chimneys for fear (though I burn nothing but small coal) my house should be set on fire with the smoke. I will not dine[132] but once in a dozen year, when there is a great rot of sheep, and I know not what to do with them; I keep open house for all the beggars in some of my out-yards: marry, they must bring bread with them; I am no baker.

WILL SUM. As good men as you, and have thought it no scorn to serve their 'prenticeships on the pillory.

SUM. Winter, is this thy son? Hear'st how he talks?

WIN. I am his father, therefore may not speak, But otherwise I could excuse his fault.

SUM. Christmas, I tell thee plain, thou art a snudge[133], And were't not that we love thy father well, Thou shouldst have felt what 'longs to avarice. It is the honour of nobility To keep high-days and solemn festivals; Then to set their magnificence to view, To frolic open with their favourites, And use their neighbours with all courtesy; When thou in hugger-mugger[134] spend'st thy wealth. Amend thy manners, breathe thy rusty gold; Bounty will win thee love, when thou art old.

WILL SUM. Ay, that bounty I would fain meet, to borrow money of; he is fairly bless'd now-a-days, that 'scapes blows when he begs. Verba dandi et reddendi go together in the grammar rule: there is no giving but with condition of restoring. Ah! benedicite: Well is he hath no necessity Of gold nor of sustenance: Slow good hap comes by chance; Flattery best fares; Arts are but idle wares: Fair words want giving hands, The Lento[135] begs that hath no lands. Fie on thee, thou scurvy knave, That hast nought, and yet goes brave: A prison be thy deathbed, Or be hang'd all save the head.

SUM. Back-winter, stand forth.

VER. Stand forth, stand forth: hold up your head; speak out.

BACK-WIN. What should I stand, or whither should I go?

SUM. Autumn accuses thee of sundry crimes, Which here thou art to clear or to confess.

BACK-WIN. With thee or Autumn have I nought to do, I would you both were hanged, face to face.

SUM. Is this the reverence that thou ow'st to us?

BACK-WIN. Why not? What art thou? shalt thou always live?

AUT. It is the veriest dog in Christendom.

WIN. That's for he barks at such as knave as thou.

BACK-WIN. Would I could bark the sun out of the sky; Turn moon and stars to frozen meteors, And make the ocean a dry land of ice! With tempest of my breath turn up high trees, On mountains heap up second mounts of snow Which, melted into water, might fall down, As fell the deluge on the former world! I hate the air, the fire, the spring, the year, And whatsoe'er brings mankind any good. O that my looks were lightning to blast fruits! Would I with thunder presently might die, So I might speak in thunder to slay men. Earth, if I cannot injure thee enough, I'll bite thee with my teeth, I'll scratch thee thus: I'll beat down the partition with my heels, That, as a mud-vault, severs hell and thee. Spirits, come up! 'tis I that knock for you; One that envies[136] the world far more than you. Come up in millions! millions are too few To execute the malice I intend.

SUM. O scelus inauditum, O vox damnatorum! Not raging Hecuba, whose hollow eyes Gave suck to fifty sorrows at one time, That midwife to so many murders was, Us'd half the execrations that thou dost.

BACK-WIN. More I will use, if more I may prevail. Back-winter comes but seldom forth abroad, But when he comes, he pincheth to the proof. Winter is mild, his son is rough and stern: Ovid could well write of my tyranny, When he was banish'd to the frozen zone.

SUM. And banish'd be thou from my fertile bounds. Winter, imprison him in thy dark cell, Or with the winds in bellowing caves of brass Let stern Hippotades[137] lock him up safe, Ne'er to peep forth, but when thou, faint and weak, Want'st him to aid thee in thy regiment.

BACK-WIN. I will peep forth, thy kingdom to supplant. My father I will quickly freeze to death, And then sole monarch will I sit, and think, How I may banish thee as thou dost me.

WIN. I see my downfall written in his brows. Convey him hence to his assigned hell! Fathers are given to love their sons too well.

[Exit BACK-WINTER.

WILL SUM. No, by my troth, nor mothers neither: I am sure I could never find it. This Back-winter plays a railing part to no purpose: my small learning finds no reason for it, except as a back-winter or an after-winter is more raging, tempestuous, and violent than the beginning of winter; so he brings him in stamping and raging as if he were mad, when his father is a jolly, mild, quiet old man, and stands still and does nothing. The court accepts of your meaning. You might have written in the margin of your play-book—"Let there be a few rushes laid[138] in the place where Back-winter shall tumble, for fear of 'raying[139] his clothes:" or set down, "Enter Back-winter, with his boy bringing a brush after him, to take off the dust, if need require." But you will ne'er have any wardrobe-wit while you live: I pray you, hold the book well;[140] [that] we be not non plus in the latter end of the play.

SUM. This is the last stroke my tongue's clock must strike. My last will, which I will that you perform. My crown I have dispos'd already of. Item, I give my wither'd flowers and herbs Unto dead corses, for to deck them with. My shady walks to great men's servitors, Who in their masters' shadows walk secure. My pleasant open air and fragrant smells To Croydon and the grounds abutting round. My heat and warmth to toiling labourers, My long days to bondmen and prisoners, My short night[s] to young [un]married souls. My drought and thirst to drunkards' quenchless throats: My fruits to Autumn, my adopted heir: My murmuring springs, musicians of sweet sleep, To malcontents [who], with their well-tun'd ears,[141] Channell'd in a sweet falling quatorzain, Do lull their cares[142] asleep, listening themselves. And finally, O words, now cleanse your course Unto Eliza, that most sacred dame, Whom none but saints and angels ought to name, All my fair days remaining I bequeath To wait upon her, till she be return'd. Autumn, I charge thee, when that I am dead, Be prest[143] and serviceable at her beck, Present her with thy goodliest ripen'd fruits; Unclothe no arbours, where she ever sat, Touch not a tree thou think'st she may pass by. And, Winter, with thy writhen, frosty face, Smooth up thy visage, when thou look'st on her; Thou never look'st on such bright majesty. A charmed circle draw about her court, Wherein warm days may dance, and no cold come: On seas let winds make war, not vex her rest; Quiet enclose her bed, thought fly her breast. Ah, gracious queen! though summer pine away, Yet let thy flourishing stand at a stay. First droop this universal's aged frame, Ere any malady thy strength should tame. Heaven raise up pillars to uphold thy hand, Peace may have still his temple in thy land. Lo! I have said; this is the total sum. Autumn and Winter, on your faithfulness For the performance I do firmly build. Farewell, my friends: Summer bids you farewell! Archers and bowlers, all my followers, Adieu, and dwell with desolation: Silence must be your master's mansion. Slow marching, thus descend I to the fiends. Weep, heavens!—mourn, earth! here Summer ends.

[_Here the Satyrs and wood-nymphs carry him out, singing as he came in.

The Song.

Autumn hath all the summer's fruitful treasure; Gone is our sport, fled is poor Croydon's pleasure! Short days, sharp days, long nights come on apace: Ah! who shall hide us from the winter's face? Cold doth increase, the sickness will not cease, And here we lie, God knows, with little ease. From winter, plague, and pestilence, good Lord, deliver us!

London doth mourn, Lambeth is quite forlorn; Trades cry, woe worth that ever they were born! The want of term is town and city's harm.[144] Close chambers we do want to keep us warm. Long banished must we live from our friends: This low-built house will bring us to our ends. From winter, plague, and pestilence, good Lord, deliver us_!

WILL SUM. How is't, how is't? you that be of the graver sort, do you think these youths worthy of a plaudite for praying for the queen, and singing the litany? They are poor fellows, I must needs say, and have bestowed great labour in sewing leaves, and grass, and straw, and moss upon cast suits. You may do well to warm your hands with clapping before you go to bed, and send them to the tavern with merry hearts.

Enter a little BOY with an Epilogue.

Here is a pretty boy comes with an Epilogue to get him audacity. I pray you, sit still a little and hear him say his lesson without book. It is a good boy: be not afraid: turn thy face to my lord. Thou and I will play at pouch to-morrow morning for breakfast. Come and sit on my knee, and I'll dance thee, if thou canst not endure to stand.

THE EPILOGUE.

Ulysses, a dwarf, and the prolocutor for the Grecians, gave me leave, that am a pigmy, to do an embassage to you from the cranes. Gentlemen (for kings are no better), certain humble animals, called our actors, commend them unto you; who, what offence they have committed I know not (except it be in purloining some hours out of Time's treasury, that might have been better employed) but by me (the agent of their imperfections) they humbly crave pardon, if haply some of their terms have trod awry, or their tongues stumbled unwittingly on any man's content. In much corn is some cockle; in a heap of coin here and there a piece of copper: wit hath his dregs as well as wine; words their waste, ink his blots, every speech his parenthesis; poetical fury, as well crabs as sweetings for his summer fruits. Nemo sapit omnibus horis. Their folly is deceased; their fear is yet living. Nothing can kill an ass but cold: cold entertainment, discouraging scoffs, authorised disgraces, may kill a whole litter of young asses of them here at once, that hath travelled thus far in impudence, only in hope to sit a-sunning in your smiles. The Romans dedicated a temple to the fever quartan, thinking it some great god, because it shook them so; and another to ill-fortune in Esquiliis, a mountain in Rome, that it should not plague them at cards and dice. Your grace's frowns are to them shaking fevers; your least disfavours the greatest ill-fortune that may betide them. They can build no temples but themselves and their best endeavours, with all prostrate reverence, they here dedicate and offer up wholly to your service. Sis bonus, O, faelixque tuis.[145] To make the gods merry, the celestial clown Vulcan tuned his polt foot to the measures of Apollo's lute, and danced a limping galliard in Jove's starry hall: to make you merry, that are gods of art and guides unto heaven, a number of rude Vulcans, unwieldy speakers, hammer-headed clowns (for so it pleaseth them in modesty to name themselves) have set their deformities to view, as it were in a dance here before you. Bear with their wants; lull melancholy asleep with their absurdities, and expect hereafter better fruits of their industry. Little creatures often terrify great beasts: the elephant flieth from a ram: the lion from a cock and from fire; the crocodile from all sea-fish; the whale from the noise of parched bones. Light toys chase great cares: the great fool Toy hath marr'd the play. Good night, gentlemen; I go.

[Let him be carried away.[146]

WILL SUM. Is't true, jackanapes? do you serve me so? As sure as this coat is too short for me, all the points of your hose for this are condemned to my pocket, if you and I e'er play at span-counter more. Valete, spectatores: pay for this sport with a plaudite, and the next time the wind blows from this corner, we will make you ten times as merry.

Barbarus hic ego sum, quia non intelligor ulli.



THE DOWNFALL OF ROBERT EARL OF HUNTINGTON.



EDITION.

The Downfall of Robert Earle of Huntington, afterward called Robin Hood of merrie Sherwodde; with his love to chaste Matilda, the Lord Fitzwaters Daughter, afterwarde his faire Maide Marian. Acted by the Right Honourable the Earle of Notingham, Lord high Admirall of England, his servants. Imprinted at London for William Leake. 1601. 4to. B.L.



INTRODUCTION.

"The Downfall of Robert Earl of Huntington" and "The Death of Robert Earl of Huntington"[147] were both formerly ascribed to Thomas Heywood, on the always disputable authority of Kirkman the Bookseller. The discovery of the folio account-book of Philip Henslowe, proprietor of the Rose theatre on the Bank-side, enabled Malone to correct the error.[148] The following entries in Henslowe's MSS. contain the evidence upon the subject:—

"Feb. 1597-8.—The first part of Robin Hood by Anthony Mundy.

"The second part of the Downfall of Earl Huntington, sirnamed Robinhood by Anthony Mundy and Henry Chettle."

It is to be observed that what Henslowe mentions as "the second part of the Downfall of Earl Huntington" is in fact the play called on the printed title-page "The Death of Robert Earl of Huntington." Hence we find that Anthony Munday wrote the first part or "Downfall" alone, and the second part or "Death" in conjunction with Henry Chettle: nevertheless there is a memorandum by Henslowe, by which it seems that Chettle had something to do also with the first part. It is in these terms:—

"Lent unto Robarte Shawe the 18 of Novemb. 1598, to lend unto Mr Cheattle upon the mending of The First Part of Robart Hoode, the sum of xs."

The loan here mentioned was perhaps in anticipation of "the mending;" and Malone subsequently met with the following notice: "For mending of Robin Hood for the Corte;" which might be written after the improvements, considered necessary before the performance of the play at Court, had been completed.

Anthony Munday must have been born in 1553, for the monument to him in the Church of St Stephen, Coleman Street, states, that at the time of his death, 10th August 1633, he was eighty years old. From the inscription we likewise learn that he was "a citizen and draper." In 1589 he lived in the city, and dates his translation of "The History of Palmendos" "from my house in Cripplegate." That he carried on the business of a draper, or had some connection with the trade as late as 1613, may be gathered from the following passage at the close of "The Triumphs of Truth," the city pageant for that year, by Thomas Middleton: "The fire-work being made by Maister Humphrey Nichols, a man excellent in his art; and the whole work and body of the Triumph, with all the proper beauties of the workmanship, most artfully and faithfully performed by John Grinkin; and those furnished with apparel and porters by Anthony Munday, Gentleman." The style of "gentleman" was probably given to him with reference to the productions of his pen.

At what date he acquired the title of "poet to the city" does not appear: he wrote the Lord Mayor's Pageant in 1605; but he had certainly earlier been similarly employed, as Ben Jonson introduces him in that capacity in "The Case is Altered," which was written in the end of 1598 or beginning of 1599.[149] He there throws some ridicule upon Don Antonio Balladino (as he calls Munday), and Mr Gifford was of opinion that Middleton meant to censure him in his "Triumphs of Truth," as the impudent "common writer" of city pageants; but this is hardly consistent with the mention Middleton introduces of Munday at the close of that performance. Besides, Dekker wrote the pageant for the year 1612, immediately preceding that for which Middleton was engaged; and that Munday was not in disrepute is obvious from the fact that in 1614, 1615, and 1616, his pen was again in request for the same purpose.

Whatever might have been Munday's previous life, in the year 1582 he was placed in no very enviable situation. He had been mainly instrumental in detecting the Popish Conspiracy in that year, which drew down upon him the bitter animosity of the Jesuits. They charged him in their publications (from which extracts may be seen in Mr A. Chalmers' "Biographical Dictionary," and elsewhere) with having been "first a stage-player and afterwards an apprentice," and after being "hissed from the stage" and residing at Rome, with having returned to his original occupation. Munday himself admits, in the account he published of Edmund Campion and his confederates, that he was "some time the Pope's scholar in the Seminary of Rome," but always stoutly denied that he was a Roman Catholic. Perhaps the most curious tract upon this subject is that entitled, "A breefe and true reporte of the Execution of certaine Traytours at Tiborne the xxviii, and xxx dayes of May 1582. Gathered by A.M. who was there present." He signs the Dedication at length "A. Munday," and mentions that he had been a witness against some of the offenders. The persons he saw executed were, Thomas Foord, John Shert, Robert Johnson, William Filbie, Luke Kirbie, Lawrance Richardson, and Thomas Cottom; and he seems to have been publicly employed to confute them at the foot of the gallows, and to convince the populace that they were traitors and Papists, denying the supremacy of Queen Elizabeth. He there had a long dispute with Kirbie upon matters of fact, and, according to his own showing, was guilty while abroad, at least of a little duplicity. He notices having seen Captain Stukely at Rome, who was killed at the Battle of Alcazar in 1578. In the conclusion he promises his "English Romaine Lyfe" "so soon as it can be printed," in which he purposes to disclose the "Romish and Sathanical juglings," of the Jesuits.

Munday was a very voluminous author in verse and prose, original and translated, and is certainly to be reckoned among the predecessors of Shakespeare in dramatic composition. His earliest work, as far as can be now ascertained, was "The Mirror of Mutability," 1579, when he was in his 26th year: he dedicates it to the Earl of Oxford, and perhaps then belonged to the company of players of that nobleman, to which he had again attached himself on his return from Italy.[150] The Council Registers show that this nobleman had a company of players under his protection in 1575. Munday's "Banquet of Dainty Conceits" was printed in 1588, and we particularise it, because it was unknown to Ames, Herbert, and Ritson. Catalogues and specimens of his other undramatic works may be found in "Bibliographia Poetica," "Censura Literaria," "British Bibliographer,"[151] &c. The earliest praise of Munday is contained in Webbe's "Discourse of English Poetrie," 1586, where his "Sweete Sobs of Sheepheardes and Nymphes" is especially pointed out as "very rare poetrie." Francis Meres, in 1598 ("Palladis Tamia," fo. 283, b.), enumerating many of the best dramatic poets of his day, including Shakespeare, Heywood, Chapman, Porter, Lodge, &c., gives Anthony Munday the praise of being "our best plotter," a distinction that excited the spleen of Ben Jonson in his "Case is Altered," more particularly, as he was omitted.

Nearly all the existing information respecting Anthony Munday's dramatic works is derived from Henslowe's papers.[152] At what period he began to write for the stage cannot be ascertained: the earliest date in these MSS. connected with his name is December 1597; but as he was perhaps a member of the Earl of Oxford's theatrical company before he went abroad, and as he was certainly at Rome prior to 1578, it is likely that he was very early the author of theatrical performances. In the old catalogues, and in Langbaine's "Momus Triumphans," 1688, a piece called "Fidele and Fortunatus" is mentioned, and such a play was entered at Stationers' Hall, Nov. 12, 1584. There is little doubt that this is the same production, two copies of which have been discovered, with the running title of "Two Italian Gentlemen," that being the second title to "Fidele and Fortunatus" in the Register. Both copies are without title-pages; but to one of them is prefixed a dedication signed A.M., and we may with tolerable certainty conclude that Anthony Munday was the author or translator of it, and that it was printed about the date of its entry on the Stationers' Books. It is pretty evident that the play now reprinted from the only known edition in 1601 was written considerably before 1597-8, the year when it is first noticed in the accounts of the proprietor of the Rose. The story is treated with a simplicity bordering upon rudeness, and historical facts are perverted just as suited the purpose of the writer. Whether we consider it as contemporary with, or preceding the productions of the same class by Shakespeare, it is a relic of high interest, and nearly all the sylvan portions of the play, in which Robin Hood and his "merry men" are engaged, are of no ordinary beauty. Some of the serious scenes are also extremely well written, and the blank-verse, interpersed with rhymes, as was usual in our earlier dramas, by no means inharmonious.

The subsequent catalogue of plays which Munday wrote, either alone or in conjunction with others, is derived from the materials supplied by Malone.

1. Mother Redcap, by Anthony Munday and Michael Drayton. December 1597. Not printed.[153]

2. The Downfall of Robert Earl of Huntington, by Anthony Munday. February 1597-8. Printed in 1601.

3. The Death of Robert Earl of Huntington, by Anthony Munday and Henry Chettle. February 1597-8. Printed in 1601.

4. The Funeral of Richard Cordelion, by Robert Wilson, Henry Chettle, Anthony Munday, and Michael Drayton. May 1598. Not printed.

5. Valentine and Orson, by Richard Hathwaye and Anthony Munday. July 1598. Not printed.

6. Chance Medley, by Robert Wilson, Anthony Munday, Michael Drayton, and Thomas Dekker. August 1598. Not printed.

7. Owen Tudor, by Michael Drayton, Richard Hathwaye, Anthony Munday, and Robert Wilson. January 1599-1600. Not printed.

8. Fair Constance of Rome, by Anthony Munday, Richard Hathwaye, Michael Drayton, and Thomas Dekker. June 1600. Not printed.

9. Fair Constance of Rome, Part II., by the same authors. June 1600. Not printed.

10. The Rising of Cardinal Wolsey,[154] by Anthony Munday, Michael Drayton, Henry Chettle, and Wentworth Smith. November 12, 1601. Not printed.

11. Two Harpies, by Thomas Dekker, Michael Drayton, Thomas Middleton, John Webster, and Anthony Munday. May 1602. Not printed.

12. The Widow's Charm, by Anthony Munday. July 1602. Printed in 1607, as Malone conjectured, under the title of "The Puritan or Widow of Watling Street," and ascribed to Shakespeare.

13. The Set at Tennis, by Anthony Munday. December 1602. Not printed.[155]

14. The first part of the Life of Sir John Oldcastle, by Anthony Munday, Michael Drayton, Robert Wilson, and Richard Hathwaye.

Of the last, two editions were published in 1600, the one with, and the other without, the name of Shakespeare on the title-page; but Mr Malone discovered, from the Registers of the Stationers' Company, that he was not concerned in it. Whether Munday wrote any plays subsequent to the date to which Henslowe's papers extend, is not known.

Such particulars as have come down to us regarding Henry Chettle will be prefixed to "The Death of the Earl of Huntington," the second part of the play now reprinted.



DRAMATIS PERSONAE.[156]

SKELTON. SIR JOHN ELTHAM. KING RICHARD THE FIRST. PRINCE JOHN. ROBERT EARL OF HUNTINGTON. LITTLE JOHN. SCARLET. SCATHLOCK. FRIAR TUCK. MUCH, the Clown. LEICESTER. RICHMOND. SALISBURY. CHESTER. SENTLOE. FITZWATER. LACY. SIR HUGH LACY. SIR GILBERT BROUGHTON. BISHOP OF ELY. PRIOR OF YORK. JUSTICE WARMAN. WARMAN'S COUSIN. RALPH. Jailor of Nottingham, Sheriff, Messenger, Boy, Colliers, &c. QUEEN ELINOR. MATILDA, Fitzwater's Daughter. WARMAN'S WIFE. OLD WOMAN.



THE DOWNFALL OF ROBERT EARL OF HUNTINGTON.



ACT I, SCENE 1.

Enter SIR JOHN ELTHAM, and knocks at SKELTON'S door.[157]

SIR JOHN. How, Master Skelton; what, at study hard? [Opens the door.

SKEL. Welcome and wish'd-for honest Sir John Eltham. I have sent twice, and either time he miss'd That went to seek you.

ELT. So full well he might: These two hours it pleased his majesty To use my service in surveying maps, Sent over from the good King Ferdinand, That to the Indies, at Sebastian's suit, Hath lately sent a Spanish colony.

SKEL. Then 'twill trouble you, After your great affairs, to take the pain That I intended to entreat you to, About rehearsal of our[158] promis'd play.

ELT. Nay, Master Skelton; for the King himself, As we were parting, bid me take great heed We fail not of our day: therefore, I pray, Send for the rest, that now we may rehearse.

SKEL. O, they are ready all, and dress'd to play. What part play you?

ELT. Why, I play Little John, And came on purpose with this green suit.

SKEL. Holla, my masters! Little John is come.

[At every door all the players run out, some crying "Where? where?" others, "Welcome, Sir John:" among others the boys and Clown.

SKEL. Faith, little Tracy, you are somewhat forward: What, our Maid Marian leaping like a lad? If you remember, Robin is your love— Sir Thomas Mantle yonder—not Sir John.

CLOWN. But, master, Sir John is my fellow, for I am Much the miller's son, am I not?

SKEL. I know ye are, sir; And, gentlemen, since you are thus prepar'd, Go in, and bring your dumb-scene on the stage; And I, as prologue, purpose to express The ground whereon our history is laid.

[Exeunt. Manent SKELTON and SIR JOHN.

Trumpets sound. Enter first KING RICHARD, with drum and ancient, giving ELY a purse and sceptre; his mother, and brother JOHN, CHESTER, LEICESTER, LACY, others at the KING'S appointment doing reverence. The KING goes in: presently ELY ascends the chair: CHESTER, JOHN, and the QUEEN part displeasantly. Enter EGBERT EARL OF HUNTINGTON, leading MARIAN: follows him WARMAN, and after WARMAN the PRIOR; WARMAN ever flattering and making courtesy, taking gifts of the PRIOR behind and his master before. PRINCE JOHN Enters, offereth to take MARIAN. QUEEN ELINOR enters, offering to pull ROBIN from her; but they enfold each other, and sit down within the curtains. WARMAN with the PRIOR, SIR HUGH LACY, LORD SENTLOE, and SIR GILBERT BROUGHTON fold hands, and drawing the curtains, all (but the PRIOR) enter, and are kindly received by ROBIN HOOD. The curtains are again shut.

SKEL. Sir John, once more, bid your dumb shows come in, That, as they pass, I may explain them all.

Enter KING RICHARD, &c.[159]

Richard, call'd Coeur de Lion, takes his leave, Like the Lord's champion, 'gainst the pagan foes, That spoil Juda and rich Palestine. The rule of England and his princely seat He leaves with Ely, then lord chancellor; To whom the Mother Queen, her son, Prince John, Chester, and all the peers are sworn. [Exit RICHARD cum militibus. ELY ascends the chair. Now reverend Ely, like the deputy Of God's great deputy, ascends the throne; Which the Queen Mother and ambitious John Repining at, raised many mutinies: And how they ended, you anon shall hear.

[Exeunt omnes.

Enter ROBERT EARL OF HUNTINGTON, leading MARIAN, &c.[160]

This youth that leads yon virgin by the hand (As doth the sun the morning richly clad) Is our Earl Robert or your Robin Hood, That in those days was Earl of Huntington. The ill-faced miser, bribed in either hand, Is Warman, once the steward of his house, Who, Judas-like, betrays his liberal lord Into the hands of that relentless Prior, Call'd Gilbert Hood, uncle to Huntington. Those two, that seek to part these lovely friends, Are Elinor the queen and John the prince: She loves Earl Robert, he Maid Marian; But vainly, for their dear affect is such, As only death can sunder their true loves. Long had they lov'd, and now it is agreed, This day they must be troth-plight, after wed. At Huntington's fair house a feast is held; But envy turns it to a house of tears; For those false guests, conspiring with the Prior, To whom Earl Robert greatly is in debt, Mean at the banquet to betray the earl Unto a heavy writ of outlawry. The manner and escape you all shall see.

ELT. Which all, good Skelton?

SKEL. Why, all these lookers on; Whom if we please, the king will sure be pleas'd. Look to your entrance; get you in, Sir John. [Exit SIR JOHN. My shift is long, for I play Friar Tuck; Wherein, if Skelton have but any luck, He'll thank his hearers oft with many a duck. For many talk of Robin Hood, that never shot in his bow, But Skelton writes of Robin Hood what he doth truly know.[161]

Therefore I pray ye, Contentedly stay ye, And take no offending, But sit to the ending, Likewise I desire Ye would not admire My rhyme, so I shift; For this is my drift, So mought I well thrive To make ye all blithe: But if ye once frown, Poor Skelton goes down; His labour and cost, He thinketh all lost In tumbling of books Of marry-go-looks. The Sheriff with staves, With catchpoles and knaves, Are coming, I see: High time 'tis for me, To leave off my babble And fond ribble-rabble. Therefore with this court'sy Awhile I will leave ye.[162]



SCENE II.

Enter, as it were in haste, the PRIOR OF YORK, the SHERIFF, Justice WARMAN, Steward to ROBIN HOOD.

PRIOR. Here, Master Warman, there's a hundred crowns For your good-will and futherance in this.

WAR. I thank you, my Lord Prior. I must away, To shun suspicion; but be resolute, And we will take him, have no doubt of it.

PRIOR. But is Lord Sentloe and the other come?

WAR. Lord Sentloe, Sir Hugh Lacy, and Sir Gilbert Broughton Are there, and as they promis'd you last night, Will help to take him, when the Sheriff comes. [Exit WARMAN.

PRIOR. Awhile, farewell, and thanks to them and you. Come, Master Sheriff, the outlawry is proclaim'd, Send therefore quickly for more company, And at the back-gate we will enter in.

SHER. We shall have much ado, I am afraid.

PRIOR. No, they are very merry at a feast; A feast where Marian, daughter to Lord Lacy, Is troth-plighted to wasteful Huntington; And at the feast are my especial friends, Whom he suspects not. Come, we'll have him, man, And for your pains here is a hundred marks.

SHER. I thank your lordship: we'll be diligent.

[Exeunt.



SCENE III.

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.



ACT II., SCENE I.

Enter LITTLE JOHN fighting with the SHERIFF and his men; WARMAN persuading him.

LIT. JOHN. Warman, stand off! Tit-tattle, tell not me what ye can do: The goods, I say, are mine, and I say true.

WAR. I say the Sheriff must see them, ere they go.

LIT. JOHN. You say so, Warman: Little John says no.

SHER. I say I must, for I am the king's shrieve.

LIT. JOHN. Your must is false; your office I believe.

WATCH. Down with him! down with him!

LIT. JOHN. Ye bark at me like curs, but I will down With twenty "Stand, and who goes there?"[175] of you, If ye stand long tempting my patience. Why, Master Sheriff, think you me a fool? What justice is there you should search my trunks, Or stay my goods for that my master owes?

SHER. Here's Justice Warman, steward to your lord, Suspects some coin, some jewels, or some plate That 'longs unto your lord, are in your trunks, And the extent is out for all his goods; Therefore we ought to see none be convey'd.

WAR. True, Little John; I am the sorrier.

LIT. JOHN. A plague upon ye else, how sore ye weep! Why, say, thou upstart, that there were some help, Some little, little help in this distress, To aid our lord and master comfortless, Is it thy part, thou screen-fac'd snotty-nose, To hinder him that gave thee all thou hast?

Enter JUSTICE WARMAN'S [French] WIFE oddly attired.

WIFE. Who's that, husband? you, you! means he you?

WAR. I, by'r Lady is it, I thank him.

WIFE. Ah, ye knave you! God's pity, husband, why dis no your worship send the kneve to Newgate?

LIT. JOHN. Well, Master Sheriff, shall I pass or no?

SHER. Not without search.

LIT. JOHN. Then here the casket stands: Any that dares unto it set their hands, Let him begin.

WIFE. Do, hisband; You are a majesty: I warrant There's old knacks, chains, and other toys.

LIT. JOHN. But not for you, good madam beetle-brows.

WIFE. Out upon him! By my truly, Master Justice, and ye do not clap him up, I will sue a bill of remorse, and never come between a pair of sheets with ye. Such a kneve as this! down with him, I pray.

[Set upon him: he knocks some down.

WIFE. Ah, good Lord! come not near, good husband; only charge him, charge him! Ah, good God! help, help!

Enter PRINCE JOHN, the BISHOP OF ELY, the PRIOR OF YORK, with others. All stay.

JOHN. What tumult have we here? who doth resist The king's writs with such obstinate contempt?

WIFE. This kneve.

WAR. This rebel.

JOHN. How now, Little John, Have you no more discretion than you show?

ELY. Lay hold, and clap the traitor by the heels.

LIT. JOHN. I am no traitor, my good Lord of Ely First hear me, then commit me, if you please.

JOHN. Speak, and be brief.

LIT. JOHN. Here is a little box, Containing all my gettings twenty year, Which is mine own, and no man's but mine own: This they would rifle, this I do defend, And about this we only do contend.

JOHN. You do the fellow wrong: his goods are his. You only must extend upon the Earl's.

PRIOR. That was, my lord, but now is Robert Hood; A simple yeoman, as his servants were.

WIFE. Back with that leg, my Lord Prior: there be some that were his servants think foul scorn to be called yeomen.

PRIOR. I cry your worship mercy, Mistress Warman: The squire, your husband, was his servant once.

LIT. JOHN. A scurvy squire, with reverence of these lords.

WIFE. Does he not speak treason, pray?

ELY. Sirrah, ye are too saucy: get you hence.

WAR. But hear me first, my lords, with patience. This scoffing, careless fellow, Little John, Hath loaden hence a horse 'twixt him and Much, A silly, rude knave—Much, the miller's son.

Enter MUCH, Clown.

MUCH. I am here to answer for myself, and have taken you in two lies at once: first, Much is no knave, neither was it a horse Little John and I loaded, but a little curtal of some five handfuls high, sib to the ape's only beast at Paris Garden.[176]

LIT. JOHN. But, Master Warman, you have loaded carts, And turned my lord's goods to your proper use. Whoever hath the right, you do the wrong, And are—

WIFE. What is he, kneve?

LIT. JOHN. Unworthy to be nam'd a man.

MUCH. And I'll be sworn for his wife.

WIFE. Ay, so thou mayest, Much.

MUCH. That she sets new marks of all my old lady's linen (God rest her soul!), and my young lord never had them since.

WIFE. Out, out! I took him them but for to whiten, as God mend me.

ELY. Leave off this idle talk; get ye both hence.

LIT. JOHN. I thank your honours: we are not in love With being here. We must seek service that are masterless.

[Exeunt MUCH and LITTLE JOHN.

ELY. Lord Prior of York, here's your commission. You are best make speed, lest in his country houses, By his appointment, all his herds be sold.

PRIOR. I thank your honour, taking humble leave. [Exit.

ELY. And, Master Warman, here's your patent sealed For the High Sheriffwick of Nottingham; Except the king our master do repeal This gift of ours.

JOHN. Let him the while possess it.

ELY. A God's name, let him; he hath my good will. [Exit.

JOHN. Well, Warman, this proud priest I cannot brook. But to our other matter: send thy wife away.

WAR. Go in, good wife; the prince with me hath private conference.

WIFE. By my troth, ye will anger me: now ye have the pattern, ye should call me nothing but Mistress Sheriff; for I tell you I stand upon my replications. [Exit.

JOHN. Thinkest thou that Marian means To 'scape this evening hence with Robin Hood? The horse-boy told me so; and here he comes, Disguised like a citizen, methinks. Warman, let's in; I'll fit him presently: Only for Marian am I now his enemy.

[Exeunt.

Enter ROBIN, like a citizen.

ROB. H. Earl John[177] and Warman, two good friends of mine: I think they knew me not, or if they did I care not what can follow. I am sure The sharpest end is death, and that will come. But what of death or sorrow do I dream? My Marian, my fair life, my beauteous love Is coming, to give comfort to my grief, And the sly queen, intending to deceive, Hath taught us how we should her sleights receive.[178] But who is this? God's pity! here's Prince John.

JOHN. Good even, sir. This clear evening should portend Some frost, I think: how judge you, honest friend?

ROB. H. I am not weather-wise; but it may be We shall have hard frost; for true charity, Good dealing, faithful friendship, honesty, Are chill-cold, dead with cold.

JOHN. O good sir, stay, That frost hath lasted many a bitter day. Know ye no frozen hearts that are belov'd?

ROB. H. Love is a flame, a fire, that being moved, Still brighter grows. But say, are you beloved?

JOHN. I would be, if I be not: but pass that. Are ye a dweller in this city, pray?

ROB. H. I am; and for a gentlewoman stay, That rides some four or five mile in great haste.

Enter QUEEN and MARIAN.[179]

JOHN. I see your labour, sir, is not in waste, For here come two; are either of these yours?

ROB. H. Both are—one most.[180]

JOHN. Which do you most respect?

ROB. H. The youngest and the fairest I reject.

JOHN. Robin, I'll try you, whether ye say true. [Aside.

ROB. H. As you with me, so, John, I'll jest with you. [Aside.

QU. ELIN. Marian, let me go first to Robin Hood, And I will tell him what we do intend.

MAR. Do what your highness please; your will is mine.

JOHN. My mother is with gentle Marian: O, it doth grieve her to be left behind.

QU. ELIN. Shall we away, my Robin, lest the queen Betray our purpose? sweet, let us away: I have great will to go, no heart to stay.

ROB. H. Away with thee? No; get thee far away From me, foul Marian, fair though thou be nam'd; For thy bewitching eyes have raised storms, That have my name and noblesse ever sham'd; Prince John, my dear friend once, is now for thee Become an unrelenting enemy.

JOHN. But I'll relent and love thee, if thou leave her.

ROB. H. And Elinor my sovereign, mother-queen,[181] That yet retains true passion in her breast, Stands mourning yonder. Hence! I thee detest. I will submit me to her majesty. Great princess, if you will but ride with me A little of my way, I will express My folly past, and humble pardon beg.

MAR. I grant, Earl Robert, and I thank thee too.

QU. ELIN. She's not the queen; sweet Robin, it is I.

ROB. H. Hence, sorceress! thy beauty I defy. If thou have any love at all to me, Bestow it on Prince John; he loveth thee.

[Exeunt ROBIN, MARIAN.

JOHN. And I will love thee, Robin, for this deed, And help thee, too, in thy distressful need.

QU. ELIN. Wilt thou not stay nor speak, proud Huntington? Ay me! some whirlwind hurries them away.

JOHN. Follow him not, fair love, that from thee flies, But fly to him that gladly follows thee. Wilt thou not, girl? turn'st thou away from me?

QU. ELIN. Nay, we shall have it then, If my quaint son his mother 'gin to court. [Aside.

JOHN. Wilt thou not speak, fair Marian, to Prince John, That loves thee well?

QU. ELIN. Good sir, I know you do.

JOHN. That can maintain thee.

QU. ELIN. Ay, I know you can, But hitherto I have maintained you.

JOHN. My princely mother!

QU. ELIN. Ay, my princely son.

JOHN. Is Marian then gone hence with Huntington?

QU. ELIN. Ay, she is gone; ill may they either thrive.

JOHN. Mother, they [needs] must go, whom the devil drives; For your sharp fury and infernal rage, Your scorn of me, your spite to Marian, Your overdoating love to Huntington, Hath cross'd yourself, and me it hath undone.

QU. ELIN. I in mine own deceit have met deceit: In brief the manner thus I will repeat. I knew with malice that the Prior of York Pursued Earl Robert; and I furthered it, Though God can tell, for love of Huntington. For thus I thought: when he was in extremes, Need and my love would win some good regard From him to me, if I reliev'd his want. To this end came I to the mock spouse-feast; To this end made I change for Marian's weed, That me for her Earl Robert should receive: But now I see they both of them agreed, In my deceit I might myself deceive. Come in with me, come in, and meditate How to turn love to never-changing hate. [Exit.

JOHN. In by yourself; I pass not for your spells. Of youth and beauty still you are the foe: The curse of Rosamond rests on your head, Fair Rose confounded by your cank'rous hate,[182] O, that she were not as to me she is, A mother, whom by nature I must love, Then I would tell her she were too-too base To dote thus on a banish'd careless groom: Then should I tell her that she were too fond To trust[183] fair Marian to an exile's hand.

Enter a MESSENGER from ELY.

MES. My lord, my Lord of Ely sends for you About important business of the state.

JOHN. Tell the proud prelate I am not dispos'd Nor in estate to come at his command. [Smites him; he bleeds. Begone with that; or tarry, and take this! 'Zwounds! are ye list'ning for an after-errand? [Exit MESSENGER. I'll follow with revengeful, murd'rous hate The banish'd, beggar'd, bankrupt Huntington.

Enter SIMON, Earl of Leicester.

LEI. How now, Prince John? body of me! I muse What mad moods toss ye in this busy time To wound the messenger that Ely sent, By our consents? i'faith, ye did not well.

JOHN. Leicester, I meant it, Ely, not his man: His servant's head but bleeds, he headless shall From all the issues of his traitor-neck Pour streams of blood, till he be bloodless left. By earth, it shall—by heaven, it shall be so! Leicester, it shall, though all the world say no.

LEI. It shall, it shall! but how shall it be done? Not with a stormy tempest of sharp words, But slow, still speeches and effecting deeds. Here comes old Lacy and his brother Hugh! One is our friend, and the other is not true.

Enter LORD LACY, SIR HUGH, and his Boy.

LACY. Hence, treacher, as thou art! by God's bless'd mother! I'll lop thy legs off, though thou be my brother, If with thy flattering tongue thou seek to hide Thy traitorous purpose. Ah, poor Huntington! How in one hour have villains thee undone!

HUGH. If you will not believe what I have sworn, Conceit your worst. My Lord of Ely knows That what I say is true.

LACY. Still facest thou? Draw, boy, and quickly see that thou defend thee.

LEI. Patience, Lord Lacy! get you gone, Sir Hugh; Provoke him not, for he hath told you true: You know it, that I know the Prior of York, Together with my good lord chancellor, Corrupted you, Lord Sentloe, Broughton, Warman, To feast with Robert on his day of fall.

HUGH. They lie that say it: I defy ye all.

JOHN. Now, by the rood, thou liest. Warman himself, That creeping Judas, joy'd, and told it me.

LACY. Let me, my lords, revenge me of this wretch, By whom my daughter and her love were lost.

JOHN. For her, let me revenge: with bitter cost, Shall Sir Hugh Lacy and his fellows buy Fair Marian's loss, lost by their treachery; And thus I pay it. [Stabs him; he falls; Boy runs in.

LEI. Sure payment, John.

LACY. There let the villain lie. For this old Lacy honours thee, Prince John: One treacherous soul is sent to answer wrong.

Enter ELY, CHESTER, Officers, Hugh Lacy's Boy.

BOY. Here, here, my lord! look, where my master lies.

ELY. What murd'rous hand hath kill'd this gentle knight, Good Sir Hugh Lacy, steward of my lands?

JOHN. Ely, he died by this princely hand.

ELY. Unprincely deed! Death asketh death, you know. Arrest him, officers.

JOHN. O sir, I will obey. You will take bail, I hope.

CHES. 'Tis more, sir, than he may.

LEI. Chester, he may by law, and therefore shall.

ELY. Who are his bail?

LEI. I.

LACY. And I.

ELY. You are confederates.

JOHN. Holy Lord, you lie.

CHES. Be reverend, Prince John: my Lord of Ely, You know, is Regent for his majesty,

JOHN. But here are letters from his majesty, Sent out of Joppa, in the Holy Land, To you, to these, to me, to all the state, Containing a repeal of that large grant, And free authority to take the seal Into the hands of three lords temporal And the Lord Archbishop of Roan, he sent. And he shall yield it, or as Lacy lies, Desertfully, for pride and treason stabb'd, He shall ere long lie. Those, that intend as I, Follow this steely ensign, lift on high.

[Lifts up his drawn sword. Exit, cum LEICESTER and LACY.

ELY. A thousand thousand ensigns of sharp steel, And feather'd arrows from the bow of death, Against proud John wrong'd Ely will employ. My Lord of Chester, let me have your aid, To lay the pride of haught,[184] usurping John.

CHES. Some other course than war let us bethink: If it may be, let not uncivil broils Our civil hands defile.

ELY. God knows that I For quiet of the realm would aught forbear: But give me leave, my noble lord, to fear, When one I dearly lov'd is murdered Under the colour of a little wrong Done to the wasteful Earl of Huntington; Whom John, I know, doth hate unto the death, Only for love he bears to Lacy's daughter.

CHES. My lord, it's plain this quarrel is but pick'd For an inducement to a greater ill; But we will call the council of estate, At which the Mother Queen shall present be: Thither by summons shall Prince John be call'd, Leicester, and Lacy, who, it seems, Favour some factious purpose of the prince.

ELY. You have advised well, my Lord of Chester; And as you counsel, so do I conclude.

[Exeunt.



SCENE II.

Enter ROBIN HOOD and MATILDA at one door; LITTLE JOHN and MUCH the Miller's son at another door.

MUCH. Luck, I beseech thee, marry and amen! Blessing betide them! (it be them indeed) Ah, for my good lord and my little lady![185]

ROB. H. What, Much and John! well-met in this ill time.

LIT. JOHN. In this good time, my lord, for, being met, The world shall not depart us till we die.[186]

MAT. Say'st thou me so, John? as I am true maid, If I live long, well shall thy love be paid.

MUCH. Well, there be on us, simple though we stand here, have as much love in them as Little John.

MAT. Much, I confess thou lov'st me very much, And I will more reward it than with words.

MUCH. Nay, I know that; but we miller's children love the cog a little, and the fair speaking.

ROB. H. And is it possible that Warman's spite Should stretch so far, that he doth hunt the lives Of bonny Scarlet and his brother Scathlock.

MUCH. O, ay, sir: Warman came but yesterday to take charge of the jail at Nottingham, and this day he says he will hang the two outlaws. He means to set them at liberty!

MAT. Such liberty God send the peevish wretch, In his most need.

ROB. H. Now, by my honour's hope, Yet buried in the low dust of disgrace, He is to blame. Say, John, where must they die?

LIT. JOHN. Yonder's their mother's house, and here the tree Whereon, poor men, they must forego their lives: And yonder comes a lazy losel friar, That is appointed for their confessor; Who, when we brought your money to their mothers, Was wishing her to patience for their deaths.

Enter FRIAR TUCK and RALPH, Warman's man.

RAL. I am timorous, sir, that the prigioners are passed from the jail.

FRIAR. Soft, sirrah! by my order I protest Ye are too forward: 'tis no game, no jest, We go about.

ROB. H. Matilda, walk afore To Widow Scarlet's house; look, where it stands. Much, man your lady: Little John and I Will come unto you thither presently.

MUCH. Come, madam; my lord has 'pointed the properer man to go before ye.

MAT. Be careful, Robin, in this time of fear.

[Exeunt MUCH, MATILDA.

FRIAR. Now, by the relics of the holy mass, A pretty girl, a very bonny lass.

ROB. H. Friar, how like you her?

FRIAR. Marry, by my hood, I like her well, and wish her nought but good.

RAL. Ye protract, Master Friar. I obsecrate ye with all courtesy, omitting compliment, you would vouch or deign to proceed.

FRIAR, Deign, vouch, protract, compliment, obsecrate? Why, goodman Tricks, who taught you thus to prate? Your name, your name? Were you never christen'd?

RAL. My nomination Radulph is, or Ralph: Vulgars corruptly use to call me Rafe.

FRIAR. O foul corruption of base palliardize,[187] When idiots, witless, travail to be wise. Age barbarous, times impious, men vicious!

Able to upraise, Men dead many days, That wonted to praise The rhymes and the lays Of poets laureate: Whose verse did decorate, And their lines 'lustrate Both prince and potentate. These from their graves See asses and knaves, Base idiot slaves, With boastings and braves Offer to upfly To the heavens high, With vain foolery And rude ribaldry. Some of them write Of beastly delight, Suffering their lines To flatter these times With pandarism base, And lust do uncase From the placket to the pap: God send them ill-hap! Some like quaint pedants, Good wit's true recreants, Ye cannot beseech From pure Priscian speech. Divers as nice, Like this odd vice, Are word-makers daily. Others in courtesy, Whenever they meet ye, With new fashions greet ye: Changing each congee, Sometime beneath knee, With, "Good sir, pardon me," And much more foolery, Paltry and foppery, Dissembling knavery: Hands sometime kissing, But honesty missing. God give no blessing To such base counterfeiting.

LIT. JOHN. Stop, Master Skelton! whither will you run?

FRIAR. God's pity! Sir John Eltham, Little John, I had forgot myself. But to our play. Come, goodman Fashions, let us go our way, Unto this hanging business. Would, for me, Some rescue or reprieve might set them free.

[Exeunt FRIAR, RALPH.

ROB. H. Heard'st thou not, Little John, the friar's speech, Wishing for rescue or a quick reprieve?

LIT. JOHN. He seems like a good fellow, my good lord.

ROB. H. He's a good fellow, John, upon my word. Lend me thy horn, and get thee in to Much, And when I blow this horn, come both, and help me.

LIT. JOHN. Take heed, my lord: that villain Warman knows you, And ten to one he hath a writ against you.

ROB. H. Fear not. Below the bridge a poor blind man doth dwell, With him I will change my habit, and disguise: Only be ready when I call for ye; For I will save their lives, if it may be.

LIT. JOHN. I will do what you would immediately.

Enter WARMAN, SCARLET, and SCATHLOCK, bound; FRIAR TUCK as their confessor; officers with halberts.

WAR. Master Friar, be brief; delay no time. Scarlet and Scathlock, never hope for life: Here is the place of execution, And you must answer law for what is done.

SCAR. Well, if there be no remedy, we must: Though it ill-seemeth, Warman, thou should'st be So bloody to pursue our lives thus cruelly.

SCATH. Our mother sav'd thee fro the gallows, Warman: His father did prefer thee to thy lord. One mother had we both, and both our fathers To thee and to thy father were kind friends.

FRIAR. Good fellows, here you see his kindness ends: What he was once he doth not now consider. You must consider of your many sins: This day in death your happiness begins.

SCAR. If you account it happiness, good Friar, To bear us company I you desire: The more the merrier; we are honest men.

WAR. Ye were first outlaws, then ye proved thieves, And now all carelessly ye scoff at death. Both of your fathers were good, honest men; Your mother lives, their widow, in good fame; But you are scapethrifts, unthrifts, villains, knaves, And as ye lived by shifts, shall die with shame.

SCATH. Warman, good words, for all your bitter deeds: Ill-speech to wretched men is more than needs.

Enter RALPH, running.

RAL. Sir, retire ye, for it hath thus succeeded: the carnifex or executor, riding on an ill-curtal, hath titubated or stumbled, and is now cripplified, with broken or fractured tibiards, and, sending you tidings of success, saith yourself must be his deputy.

WAR. Ill-luck! but, sirrah, you shall serve the turn: The cords that bind them you shall hang them in.

RAL. How are you, sir, of me opinionated? not to possess your seneschalship or shrievalty, not to be Earl of Nottingham, will Ralph be nominated by the base, scandalous vociferation of a hangman!

Enter ROBIN HOOD, like an old man.

ROB. H. Where is the Shrieve, kind friends, I you beseech? With his good worship let me have some speech.

FRIAR. There is the Sheriff, father: this is he.

ROB. H. Friar, good alms and many blessings! thank thee. Sir, you are welcome to this troublous shire: Of this day's execution did I hear. Scarlet and Scathlock murder'd my young son: Me have they robb'd and helplessly undone. Revenge I would, but I am old and dry: Wherefore, sweet master, for saint Charity, Since they are bound, deliver them to me, That for my son's blood I reveng'd may be.

SCAR. This old man lies: we ne'er did him such wrong.

ROB. H. I do not lie: you wot it too-too well. The deed was such as you may shame to tell; But I with all entreats might not prevail With your stern, stubborn minds, bent all to blood. Shall I have such revenge then, Master Sheriff, That with my son's loss may suffice myself? [ROBIN whispers with them.

WAR. Do, father, what thou wilt, for they must die.

FRIAR. I never heard them touch'd with blood till now.

WAR. Notorious villains! and they made their brags, The Earl of Huntington would save their lives: But he is down the wind, as all such shall, That revel, waste and spend, and take no care.

ROB. H. My horn once winded, I'll unbind my belt, Whereat the swords and bucklers are fast-tied. [To SCARLET and SCATHLOCK.

SCATH. Thanks to your honour. [Aside.] Father, we confess, And were our arms unbound, we would upheave Our sinful hands with sorrowing hearts to heaven.

ROB. H. I will unbind you, with the sheriff's leave.

WAR. Do: help him, Ralph: go to them, Master Friar.

ROB. H. And as ye blew your horns at my son's death, So will I sound your knell with my best breath: [Sounds his horn. And here's a blade, that hangeth at my belt, Shall make ye feel in death what my son felt.

Enter LITTLE JOHN and MUCH.[188] Fight: the FRIAR, making as if he helped the SHERIFF, knocks down his men, crying, Keep the king's peace!

RAL. O, they must be hanged, father.

ROB. H. Thy master and thyself supply their rooms. Warman, approach me not! tempt not my wrath, For if thou do, thou diest remediless.

WAR. It is the outlaw'd Earl of Huntington! Down with him, Friar! O, thou dost mistake![189] Fly, Ralph, we die else! let us raise the shire.

[SHERIFF runs away, and his men.

FRIAR. Farewell. Earl Robert, as I am true friar, I had rather be thy clerk than serve the Prior.

ROB. H. A jolly fellow. Scarlet, know'st thou him?

SCAR. He is of York, and of St Mary's cloister, There where your greedy uncle is Lord Prior.

MUCH. O, murrain on ye! have you two 'scap'd hanging?[190] Hark ye, my lord: these two fellows kept at Barnsdale Seven year to my knowledge, and no man[191]—

ROB. H. Here is no biding, masters: get ye in, Take a short blessing at your mother's hands. Much, bear them company; make Matilda merry: John and myself will follow presently. John, on a sudden thus I am resolv'd— To keep in Sherwood till the king's return, And being outlaw'd, lead an outlaw's life. (Seven years these brethren, being yeomen's sons, Lived and 'scap'd the malice of their foes.)[192] How think'st thou, Little John, of my intent?

LIT. JOHN. I like your honour's purpose exceeding well.

ROB. H. Nay, no more honour, I pray thee, Little John; Henceforth I will be called Robin Hood. Matilda shall be my maid Marian. Come, John, friends all, for now begins the game; And after our deserts so grow our fame!

[_Exeunt.



ACT III., SCENE I.

Enter PRINCE JOHN, and his Lords, with Soldiers.

JOHN. Now is this comet shot into the sea, Or lies like slime upon the sullen earth. Come, he is dead, else should we hear of him.

SAL. I know not what to think herein, my lord.

FITZ. Ely is not the man I took him for: I am afraid we shall have worse than he.

JOHN. Why, good Fitzwater, whence doth spring your fear.

FITZ. Him for his pride we justly have suppress'd; But prouder climbers are about to rise.

SAL. Name them, Fitzwater: know you any such?

JOHN. Fitzwater means not anything, I know; For if he did, his tongue would tell his heart.

FITZ. An argument of my free heart, my lord. That lets the world be witness of my thought. When I was taught, true dealing kept the school; Deeds were sworn partners with protesting words; We said and did; these say and never mean. This upstart protestation of no proof— This, "I beseech you, sir, accept my love; Command me, use me; O, you are to blame, That do neglect, my everlasting zeal, My dear, my kind affect;" when (God can tell) A sudden puff of wind, a lightning flash, A bubble on the stream doth longer 'dure, Than doth the purpose of their promise bide. A shame upon this peevish, apish age, These crouching, hypocrite, dissembling times! Well, well, God rid the patrons of these crimes Out of this land: I have an inward fear, This ill, well-seeming sin will be bought dear.

SAL. My Lord Fitzwater is inspired, I think.

JOHN. Ay, with some devil: let the old fool dote.

Enter QUEEN MOTHER, CHESTER, SHERIFF of Kent, Soldiers.

QU. MO. From the pursuing of the hateful priest And bootless search of Ely are we come.

JOHN. And welcome is your sacred majesty; And, Chester, welcome too against your will.

CHES. Unwilling men come not without constraint; But uncompell'd comes Chester to this place, Telling thee, John, that thou art much to blame, To chase hence Ely, chancellor to the king; To set thy footsteps on the cloth of state, And seat thy body in thy brother's throne.

SAL. Who should succeed the brother but the brother?

CHES. If one were dead, one should succeed the other.

QU. MO. My son is king, my son then ought to reign.

FITZ. One son is king; the state allows not twain.

SAL. The subjects many years the king have miss'd.

CHES. But subjects must not choose what king they list.

QU. MO. Richard hath conquer'd kingdoms in the east.

FITZ. A sign he will not lose this in the west.

SAL. By Salisbury's honour, I will follow John.

CHES. So Chester will, to shun commotion.

QU. MO. Why, John shall be but Richard's deputy.

FITZ. To that Fitzwater gladly doth agree. And look to't, lady, mind King Richard's love; As you will answer't, do the king no wrong.

QU. MO. Well-said, old Conscience, you keep still one song.

JOHN. In your contentious humours, noble lords, Peers and upholders of the English state, John silent stood, as one that did await What sentence ye determin'd for my life: But since you are agreed that I shall bear The weighty burthen of this kingdom's state, Till the return of Richard our dread king, I do accept the charge, and thank ye all, That think me worthy of so great a place.

ALL. We all confirm you Richard's deputy.

SAL. Now shall I plague proud Chester.

QU. MO. Sit you sure, Fitzwater.

CHES. For peace I yield to wrong.

JOHN. Now, old man, for your daughter.

FITZ. To see wrong rule, my eyes run streams of water.

[A noise within.

Enter COLLIERS, crying, A monster!

COL. A monster! a monster! bring her out, Robin: a monster! a monster!

SAL. Peace, gaping fellow! know'st thou where thou art?

1ST COL. Why, I am in Kent, within a mile of Dover. 'Sblood, where I am! peace, and a gaping fellow! For all your dagger, wert not for your ging,[193] I would knock my whipstock on your addle-head. Come, out with the monster, Robin.

WITHIN. I come, I come. Help me, she scratches!

1ST COL. I'll gee her the lash. Come out, ye bearded witch.

[Bring forth ELY, with a yard in his hand and linen cloth, dressed like a woman.

ELY. Good fellows, let me go! there's gold to drink, I am a man, though in woman's weeds. Yonder's Prince John: I pray ye, let me go.

QU. MO. What rude companions have we yonder, Salisbury?

1ST COL. Shall we take his money?

2D COL. No, no; this is the thief that robbed Master Michaels, and came in like a woman in labour, I warrant ye.

SAL. Who have ye here, honest colliers?

2D COL. A monster, a monster! a woman with a beard, a man in a petticoat. A monster, a monster!

SAL. What, my good Lord of Ely, is it you?—Ely is taken, here's the chancellor!

1ST COL. Pray God we be not hanged for this trick.

QU. MO. What, my good lord!

ELY. Ay, ay, ambitious lady.

JOHN. Who? My lord chancellor?

ELY. Ay, you proud usurper.

SAL. What, is your surplice turned to a smock?

ELY. Peace, Salisbury, thou changing weather-cock.

CHES. Alas, my lord! I grieve to see this sight.

ELY. Chester, it will be day for this dark night.

FITZ. Ely, thou wert the foe to Huntington: Robin, thou knew'st, was my adopted son. O Ely, thou to him wert too-too cruel! With him fled hence Matilda, my fair jewel. For their wrong, Ely, and thy haughty pride, I help'd Earl John; but now I see thee low, At thy distress my heart is full of woe.

QU. MO. Needs must I see Fitzwater's overthrow. John, I affect him not, he loves not thee: Remove him, John, lest thou removed be.

JOHN. Mother, let me alone; by one and one I will not leave one that envies our good. My Lord of Salisbury, give these honest colliers For taking Ely each a hundred marks.

SAL. Come, fellows; go with me.

COL. Thank ye, i faith. Farewell, monster.

[Exeunt SALISBURY, with COLLIERS.

JOHN. Sheriff of Kent, take Ely to your charge. From shrieve to shrieve send him to Nottingham, Where Warman, by our patent, is high shrieve. There, as a traitor, let him be close-kept. And to his trial we will follow straight.

ELY. A traitor, John?

JOHN. Do not expostulate: You at your trial shall have time to prate.

[Exeunt cum ELY.

FITZ. God, for thy pity, what a time is here!

JOHN. Right gracious mother, would yourself and Chester Would but withdraw you for a little space, While I confer with my good Lord Fitzwater?

QUEEN. My Lord of Chester, will you walk aside?

CHES. Whither your highness please, thither I will.

[Exeunt CHESTER and QUEEN.

JOHN. Soldiers, attend the person of our mother. [Exeunt SOLDIERS. Noble Fitzwater, now we are alone, What oft I have desir'd I will entreat, Touching Matilda, fled with Huntington.

FITZ. Of her what would you touch? Touching her flight, She is fled hence with Robert, her true knight.

JOHN. Robert is outlaw'd, and Matilda free; Why through his fault should she exiled be? She is your comfort, your old[194] age's bliss; Why should your age so great a comfort miss? She is all England's beauty, all her pride; In foreign lands why should that beauty bide? Call her again, Fitzwater, call again Guiltless Matilda, beauty's sovereign.

FITZ. I grant, Prince John, Matilda was my joy, And the fair sun that kept old Winter's frost From griping dead the marrow of my bones; And she is gone; yet where she is, God wot: Aged Fitzwater truly guesseth not. But where she is, there is kind Huntington; With my fair daughter is my noble son. If he may never be recall'd again, To call Matilda back it is in vain.

JOHN. Living with him, she lives in vicious state, For Huntington is excommunicate; And till his debts be paid, by Rome's decree It is agreed absolv'd he cannot be; And that can never be: so ne'er a[195] wife, But a loathed[196] adulterous beggar's life, Must fair Matilda live. This you may amend, And win Prince John your ever-during friend.

FITZ. As how? as how?

JOHN. Call her from him: bring her to England's court, Where, like fair Phoebe, she may sit as queen Over the sacred, honourable maids That do attend the royal queen, my mother. There shall she live a prince's Cynthia, And John will be her true Endymion.

FITZ. By this construction she should be the moon, And you would be the man within the moon!

JOHN. A pleasant exposition, good Fitzwater: But if it so fell out that I fell in, You of my full joys should be chief partaker.

FITZ. John, I defy thee! by my honour's hope, I will not bear this base indignity! Take to thy tools! think'st thou a nobleman Will be a pander to his proper[197] child? For what intend'st thou else, seeing I know Earl Chepstow's daughter is thy married wife. Come, if thou be a right Plantaganet, Draw and defend thee. O our Lady, help True English lords from such a tyrant lord! What, dost thou think I jest? Nay, by the rood, I'll lose my life, or purge thy lustful blood.

JOHN. What, my old ruffian, lie at your ward?[198] Have at your froward bosom, old Fitzwater.

[Fight: JOHN falls.

Enter QUEEN, CHESTER, SALISBURY, hastily.

FITZ. O, that thou wert not royal Richard's brother, Thou shouldst here die in presence of thy mother. [JOHN rises: all compass FITZWATER; FITZWATER chafes. What, is he up? Nay, lords, then give us leave.

CHES. What means this rage, Fitzwater?

QUEEN. Lay hands upon the Bedlam, trait'rous wretch!

JOHN. Nay, hale him hence! and hear you, old Fitzwater: See that you stay not five days in the realm. For if you do, you die remediless.

FITZ. Speak, lords: do you confirm what he hath said?

ALL. He is our prince, and he must be obey'd.

FITZ. Hearken, Earl John! but one word will I say.

JOHN. I will not hear thee; neither will I stay. Thou know'st thy time. [Exit JOHN.

FITZ. Will not your highness hear?

QUEEN. No: thy Matilda robb'd me of my dear. [Exit QUEEN.

FITZ. I aided thee in battle, Salisbury.

SAL. Prince John is mov'd; I dare not stay with thee. [Exit SALISBURY.[199]

FITZ. 'Gainst thee and Ely, Chester, was I foe, And dost thou stay to aggravate my woe?

CHES. No, good Fitzwater; Chester doth lament Thy wrong, thy sudden banishment. Whence grew the quarrel 'twixt the prince and thee?

FITZ. Chester, the devil tempted old Fitzwater To be a pander to his only daughter; And my great heart, impatient, forc'd my hand, In my true honour's right to challenge him. Alas the while! wrong will not be reprov'd.

CHES. Farewell, Fitzwater: wheresoe'er thou be, By letters, I beseech thee, send to me. [Exit CHESTER.

FITZ. Chester, I will, I will. Heavens turn to good this woe, this wrong, this ill.

[Exit.



SCENE II.

Enter SCATHLOCK and SCARLET, winding their horns, at several doors. To them enter ROBIN HOOD, MATILDA, all in green, SCATHLOCK'S MOTHER, MUCH, LITTLE JOHN: all the men with bows and arrows.

ROB. H. Widow, I wish thee homeward now to wend, Lest Warman's malice work thee any wrong.

WID. Master, I will; and mickle good attend On thee, thy love, and all these yeomen strong.

MAT. Forget not, widow, what you promis'd me.

MUCH. O, ay, mistress; for God's sake let's have Jenny.

WID. You shall have Jenny sent you with all speed. Sons, farewell, and, by your mother's reed, Love well your master: blessing ever fall On him, your mistress, and these yeomen tall. [Exit.

MUCH. God be with you, mother: have much mind, I pray, on Much your son, and your daughter Jenny.

ROB. H. Wind once more, jolly huntsmen, all your horns; Whose shrill sound, with the echoing wood's assist, Shall ring a sad knell for the fearful deer, Before our feathered shafts, death's winged darts, Bring sudden summons for their fatal ends.

SCAR. It's full seven years since we were outlaw'd first, And wealthy Sherwood was our heritage: For all those years we reigned uncontroll'd, From Barnsdale shrogs to Nottingham's red cliffs; At Blithe and Tickhill were we welcome guests. Good George-a-Greene at Bradford was our friend, And wanton Wakefield's Pinner[200] lov'd us well. At Barnsley dwells a potter tough and strong, That never brook'd we brethren should have wrong. The nuns of Farnsfield (pretty nuns they be) Gave napkins, shirts, and bands to him and me. Bateman of Kendal gave us Kendal green, And Sharpe of Leeds sharp arrows for us made: At Rotheram dwelt our bowyer, God him bless; Jackson he hight, his bows did never miss. This for our good—our scathe let Scathlock tell, In merry Mansfield how it once befell.

SCATH. In merry Mansfield, on a wrestling day, Prizes there were, and yeomen came to play; My brother Scarlet and myself were twain. Many resisted, but it was in vain, For of them all we won the mastery, And the gilt wreaths were given to him and me. There by Sir Doncaster of Hothersfield We were bewray'd, beset, and forc'd to yield, And so borne bound from thence to Nottingham, Where we lay doom'd to death till Warman came.

ROB. H. Of that enough. What cheer, my dearest love?

MUCH. O, good cheer anon, sir; she shall have venison her bellyful.

MAT. Matilda is as joyful of thy good As joy can make her: how fares Robin Hood?

ROB. H. Well, my Matilda, and if thou agree, Nothing but mirth shall wait on thee and me.

MAT. O God, how full of perfect mirth were I To see thy grief turn'd to true jollity!

ROB. H. Give me thy hand; now God's curse on me light, If I forsake not grief, in griefs despite. Much, make a cry, and, yeomen, stand ye round: I charge ye never more let woful sound Be heard among ye; but whatever fall, Laugh grief to scorn, and so make sorrow small, Much, make a cry, and loudly: Little John.

MUCH. O God, O God! help, help, help! I am undone, I am undone!

LIT. JOHN. Why, how now, Much? Peace, peace, you roaring slave.

MUCH. My master bad me cry, and I will cry till he bid me leave. Help, help, help! Ay, marry will I.

ROB. H. Peace, Much. Read on the articles, good John.

LIT. JOHN. First, no man must presume to call our master By name of Earl, Lord, Baron, Knight, or Squire; But simply by the name of Robin Hood.

ROB. H. Say, yeomen, to this order will ye yield?

ALL. We yield to serve our master, Robin Hood.

LIT. JOHN. Next, 'tis agreed, if thereto she agree, That fair Matilda henceforth change her name, And while it is the chance of Robin Hood To live in Sherwood a poor outlaw's life, She by Maid Marian's name be only call'd.

MAT. I am contented; read on, Little John: Henceforth let me be nam'd Maid Marian.

LIT. JOHN. Thirdly, no yeoman, following Robin Hood In Sherwood, shall [ab]use widow, wife, or maid; But by true labour lustful thoughts expel.

ROB. H. How like ye this?

ALL. Master, we like it well.

MUCH. But I cry no to it. What shall I do with Jenny then?

SCAR. Peace, Much: go forward with the orders, fellow John.

LIT. JOHN. Fourthly, no passenger with whom ye meet Shall ye let pass, till he with Robin feast; Except a post, a carrier, or such folk As use with food to serve the market towns.

ALL. An order which we gladly will observe.

LIT. JOHN. Fifthly, you never shall the poor man wrong, Nor spare a priest, a usurer, or a clerk.

MUCH. Nor a fair wench, meet we her in the dark!

LIT. JOHN. Lastly, you shall defend with all your power Maids, widows, orphans, and distressed men.

ALL. All these we vow to keep as we are men.

ROB. H. Then wend ye to the greenwood merrily, And let the light roes bootless from ye run. Marian and I, as sovereigns of your toils, Will wait within our bower your bent bows' spoils.

MUCH. I will among them, master.

[Exeunt winding their horns.

ROB. H. Marian, thou seest, though courtly pleasures want, Yet country sport in Sherwood is not scant: For the soul-ravishing, delicious sound Of instrumental music we have found The winged quiristers with divers notes Sent from their quaint recording[201] pretty throats, On every branch that compasseth our bow'r, Without command contenting us each hour. For arras hangings and rich tapestry We have sweet nature's best embroidery. For thy steel glass, wherein thou wont'st to look, Thy crystal eyes gaze in a crystal brook. At court a flower or two did deck thy head, Now with whole garlands is it circled. For what in wealth we want, we have in flowers, And what we lose in halls, we find in bowers.

MAR. Marian hath all, sweet Robert, having thee, And guesses thee as rich in having me.

ROB. H. I am indeed; For, having thee, what comfort can I need?

MAR. Go in, go in. To part such true love, Robin, it were sin.

[Exeunt.

Enter PRIOR, SIR DONCASTER, FRIAR TUCK.

PRIOR. To take his body, by the blessed rood, 'Twould do me more than any other good.

DON. O, 'tis an unthrift, still the churchmen's foe; An ill-end will betide him, that I know. 'Twas he that urged the king to 'sess the clergy, When to the holy land he took his journey; And he it is that rescued those two thieves, Scarlet and Scathlock, that so many griefs To churchmen did: and now, they say, He keeps in Sherwood, and himself doth play The lawless reaver:[202] hear you, my Lord Prior, He must be taken, or it will be wrong.