ROBIN

Why Friar, what a murren dost thou mean? The King calls for thee. For, a mighty stag, (That hath a copper ring about his neck, With letters on it, which he would have read) Hath Scarlet killed. I pray thee go thy way. Good uncle be more careful of your health, And you sir Doncaster, your wounds are green. And Warman, I advise you to more mirth. Shun solitary walks, keep company, Forget your fault: I have forgiven the fault. Good Warman be more blithe, and at this time, A little help my Marian and her maid: Who is it uncle that you so bemoan? Well, I am sorry; but must not be sad, Because the King is coming to my bower. Help me, I pray thee, to remove his body, Least he should come and see him murdered. Sometime anon he shall be buried. A bodies lose, sir Doncaster, is much: But a souls too, is more to be bemoaned. Where is it uncle? Uncle I will, you need urge that no more. But whats the virtues of this precious drink? Uncle I thank you, pray you let me have A cup prepared, gainst the king comes in, To cool his heat: my self will give it him. I have much business; let it be your charge, To make this rich draught ready for the King, And I will quit it, pray ye do not fail. I did my Lord, I saw it all. But missing this same prating Friar, And hearing you so much desire To have the lozels company, I went to seek Small honesty. I, Much my man: but not a jot Of honesty in thee, God wot. My Lord, you need not fear at all, But you shall have his company, He will be bold I warrant you. I have a drink within my bower, Of pleasing taste, and sovereign power: My reverend uncle gives it me, To give unto your Majesty. Traitor, I'll draw thee out before the king. Lay hold on these. Far be it, I should bring your Majesty, The drink these two prepared for your taste. Long will not my ill looks amaze your Grace. I shortly look never to look again. Because I cannot stand: yet now I can. Thans to my king, and thanks to Marian. I must be brief, for I am sure of death, Before a long tale can be half way told. Not of the virtues, but the life it can. By poison, and the Priors treachery. They cannot hurt thee, pray thee do not fear, Base curs will couch, the Lion being near. Very well, fair Q eene. I shall, I trust, anon: Sleep falls upon mine eyes. Oh I must sleep, & they that love me, do not waken me. I must, for I must die: While I live therefore let me have some rest. Oh ring not such a peal for Robins death, Let sweet forgiveness be my passing bell. Art thou there Marian? then fly forth my breath: To die with in thy arms contents me well. I slept not uncle, I your grief did hear, Let him forgive your soul that bought it deer: Your bodies deed, I in my death forgive, And humbly beg the king that you may live. Stand to your Clergy uncle, save your life, And led a better life than you have done. Alas poor Warman. Friar, little John, I told you both where Warmans body lay: And of his burial I'll dispose anon. Oh go not hence Prince John: a word or two Before I die, I feign would say to you. Bring forth a Beer, and cover if with green; That on my deathbed I may here fit down. At Robins burial let no black be seen, Let no hand give for him a mourning gown: For in his death, his king hath given him life, By this large gift, given to his maiden wife. Chaste maid Marilda, Countess of account, Chase, with thy bright eyes, all these clouds of woe, From these fair cheeks, I pray thee sweet do so. Think it is bootless folly, to complain, For that which never can be had again. Queen Elianor, you once were Matilds foe: Prince John, you long sought her unlawful love: Let dying Robin Hood entreat you both, To change those passion Madame turn your hate, To princely love; Prince John, convert your love To virtuous passion, chased and moderate. Oh that your gracious right hands would enfold, Matilda's right hand, prisoned in my palm, And swear to do what Robin Hood desires. Enough, enough, Fitzwater, take your child: My dying frost which no suns heat can thaw, Closes the powers of all my outward parts, My freezing blood runs back unto my heart, Where it assists death, which it would resist: Only my love a little hinders death. For he beholds her eyes, and cannot smite: Then go not yet Matilda, stay a while. Friar, make speed, and lift my latest will. Away, away, Forbear, my love: all this is but delay. First I bequeathe my soul to all souls savour, And will my body to be buried, At Wakefield, underneath the Abbey wall: And in this order make my funeral; When I am dead, stretch me upon this Beer, My beads and Primer shall my pillow be: On this side lay my bow, my good shafts here, Upon my breast the cross, and underneath, My trusty sword, thus fastened in the sheath. Let Warmans body at my feet be laid, Poor Warman, that in my defence did die, For holy dirges, sing me wodmens songs, As you to Wakefield walk, with voices shrill: This for my self: my goods and plate I give Among my yeomen: them I do bestow, Upon my Sovereign, Richard. This is all. My liege farewell, my love farewell, farewell. Farewell fair Queen, Prince John and noble Lords. Father Fitzwater heartily adieu, Adieu my yeomen tall. Matilda close mine eyes. Friar farewell, farewell to all. Oh God, he in his own hand holds his own hearts hurt, I dreaded too much his distressed look: Belike the wretch despaired, and slew himself. Run Friar before, & bid my uncle be in readiness.