DONCASTER

You were resolved to have him poisoned, Or killed, or made away, you cared not how. What devil makes you doubtful now to doo't? Apla we upon his kindness, let him die. I never tempered poison in my life, but I employed it. By th'masse and I lose this, For ever look to lose my company. That can ot be. The Queen. Earl Chester, and Earl Salsbury, If they once see me, I am a dead man: Or did they hear my name, I'll lay my life, They all would hunt me, for my life. Faith, some odd toys, That made me fly the south: but pass we them: Here is the poison: will you give it Robin? Or as I said, for ever I defy your company. Oh tell it Prior. Warman a word, My good Lord Prior and I Are full of grief, to see thy misery. Relieved sayest thou? Why, shallow witted fool, Dost thou not see Robins ambitious pride? And how he climbs by pitying, and aspires, By humble looks, good deeds, and such found toys, To be a monarch, reigning over us, As if we were the vassals to his will? Oh God have mercy on thee, silly ass. Does he not say to every guest that comes; This same is Warman, that was once my steward? Did he not bring a troop to grace himself, Like Captives waiting on a conquerors chair, And calling of them out, by one and one, Presented them, Like fairings, to the king? Nay rather, why dost thou not join in hate With us, that lately livedst Like us, in wealthy state? Remember this, remember foolish man, How thou hast be the Shrieve of Nottingham. And when thou thinkest, thou hast be such & such, Think then what 'tis to be a mate to Much, To run when Robin bids, come at his call, Be mistress Marians man. Stay Warman, stay: I grant that he did so, And you, turned honest, have forsworn the villain? And you shall, Conscience. That must be now: yonder comes Robin Hood. No life in him. Nay, thats most sure, yet he had little reason, Considering how well you used him. Better, and better still. We thought before but to have poisoned him, And now shall Robin Hood destroy the king. Even when the King, y Queen, the Prince, the Lords Joy in his virtues, this supposed vice Will turn, to sharp hate, their exceeding love. Jut, tut, let me alone for poisoning: I have already turned over four, or five, That angered me. But tell me Prior, Wherefore so deadly dost thou hate thy cousin? A pretty cause: But thou a churchman art. By the Mass, I cannot tell. Oh yes, now I have't I hate thy cousin, Earl of Huntington, Because so many love him as there do, And I my self am loved of so few. Nay, I have other reasons for my hate; He is a fool, and will be reconcilde, To any foe he hath: he is too mild, Too honest for this world, fitter for heaven: He will not kill these greedy cormorants, Nor strip base peasants of the wealth they have: He does abuse a thiefs name and and outlaws, And is indeed no outlaw, nor no thief, He is unworthy of such reverent names. Beside, he keeps a paltry whinling girl, And will not bed, forsooth, before he bride: I'll stand too to, he abuses maidenhead, That will not take it, being offered: Hinders the common wealth of able men. Another thing I hate him for again: He says his prayers, fasts eves, gives alms, does good: For these and such Like crimes, swears Doncaster, To work the speedy death of Robin Hood. How busy mistress Marian is? She thinks this is her day of bliss. Holla. I, set him forward Powders quoth you! nah, I am a fool then, if a little dust, The shaving of a horn, a Bezars stone, Or any Antidote have power to stay The execution of my hearts resolve. Tut, tut, you labour lovely Qneene, in vain, And on a thankless groom your toil bestow. Now hath your foe revenged you of your foe: Robin shall die, if all the world said no. Of life? now by the little time I have to live, He cannot live one hour for your lives. Why, I am a knight. I Madam, this is he, That made a wench dance naked in a wood: And for she did deny what I desired, I scourged her for her pride, till her fair skin With stripes was checkered Like a vintners grate. And what was this? A mighty matter sure. I have a thousand more than she defiled, And cut the squeaking throats of some of them: I grieve I did not hers, I grant, I dashed the brains out of a brat, Thine if he were, I care not: had he been The first born comfort of a royal king, And should have yald when Doncaster cried peace, I would have done by him as then I did. Alive or dead, I reck not how I die. You, them, and these, I desperately defy. Then give me my desert; curse one by one. What do I care for your damnation? Am I not doomed to death? what more damnation Can there ensue your loud and yelling cries? Can you preach this, yet set me on sir Prior, To run into this endless, quenchless fire? A holy prayer. what Collect have we next? Whoppe, what a coil is here w to your confession? I thank you sir. Its dead sure: he is dead, if that be sure. Nay, nay, you must not take this thing so heavily.