List of Characters in the order of their appearance

Friar Tuck. King Richard. The Bishop of Ely. Lord Fitzwater. Earl of Salisbury. Earl of Chester. Prince John (later, King John). Little John. Scathlock. Much, a clown. Sir Doncaster. Prior of York, Uncle to Robin Hood. Robin Hood, formerly Robert, Earl of Huntingdon.    Warman. Eleanor, the Queen Mother. Scarlet. Matilda, Robin Hood's Maid Marian. Jinny. Chorus. Characters of the dumbshow: Austria,      Ambition, Constance, Arthur, Insurrection,         King of France, Hugh le Brun (Earl of      March), Queen Isabel, two children. Hubert de Burgh (alias Bonville and possibly      identical with Chorus).

Aubrey De Vere, Earl of Oxford (alias      Salisbury). Mowbray (alias Hugh). Queen Isabel (anticipated in dumbshow). Young Bruce (alias Young Fitzwater). Old Bruce. Earl of Leicester (perhaps having appeared      earlier in play). Earl of Richmond. A Boy, messenger (no speeches). Lady Bruce. Winchester (alias Chester). George, younger son of Old Bruce (no      speeches). A Messenger to Oxford on the battlefield. Will Brand. A Soldier, guide for Matilda (no speeches). Abbess of Dunmow. A Messenger to King John. A Monk of Bury. A Servant, messenger of Brand's death. A Drummer. Sir William Blunt (alias Sir Walter Blunt). King John's masquers, ladies, soldiers, nuns.

Scene I (see note)
5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 75	Frier King Pr. John Fitzwater Ely Chester Salsbury Prince Scathlocke Prince Lit. John Prince Lit. John Prince King Much King Much King Much Scathlocke King Much	[Enter Frier Tucke. Holla, holla, holla: follow, follow, followe.     [Like noyse within. Now benedicité, what fowle absur- ditie, follie and foolerie had like to fol- lowed mee! I and my mates, are addle pates, inviting great states, to see our last play, are hunting the hay, with ho, that way, the goodly heart ranne, with followe Little John, Much play the man; and I, like a sot, have wholly forgot the course of our plot; but crosse-bowe lye downe, come on friers gowne, hoode cover my crowne, and with a lowe becke, prevent a sharpe checke.      Blithe sit yee all, and winke at our rude cry,      Minde where wee left, in Sheerewod merrily,      The king, his traine, Robin, his yeomen tall      Gone to the wodde to see the fat deare fall.      Wee left Maid Marian busie in the bower,      And prettie Jinny looking, every hower,      For their returning from the hunting game,      And therefore seeke to set each thing in frame.      Warman all wofull for his sinne we left.      Sir Doncaster, whose villanies and theft      You never heard of, but too soone yee shall,      Hurt with the Prior; shame them both befall,      They two will make our mirth be short and small.      But least I bring yee sorrowe ere the time,      Pardon I beg of your well judging eyne,      And take in part bad prologue, and rude play:      The hunters holloo, Tucke must needes away. Therefore downe weede, howe doe the deede, to make the Stagge bleede, and if my hand speede, hey for a cry, with a throate strained hie, and a lowde yall, at the beasts fall.     [Exit, Holloo within.      [Enter King, Ely, Fitzwater, Salsbury, Chester,      Prince John, Little John, Scathlocke. Where is our mother? Mounted in a stand. Sir, fallowe deere have dyed by her hand. Three stags I slewe. Two bucks by me fell downe. As many dyed by mee. But I had three. Scathlocke, wheres Much? When last I saw him, may it please your Grace, He and the Frier footed it apace. Scathlocke, no Grace, your fellowe and plaine John. I warrant you, Much will be here anone. Thinkst thou Little John, that he must Jinny wed? No doubt he must. Then to adorne his head, we shall have hornes good store. God, for thy grace, How could I misse the stagge I had in chase! Twice did I hit him in the very necke, When backe my arrowes flewe, as they had smit On some sure armour. Where is Robin Hood And the wighte Scarlet? Seeke them Little John.    [Exit John. Ile have that stagge before I dine today.      [Enter Much. O the Frier, the Frier, the Frier. Why, how now Much? Cry ye mercy, master King. Marry this is the matter; Scarlet is following the stagge you hit, and has al- most lodg'd him: now the Frier has the best bowe but yours, in all the field, which and Scarlet had, he would have him straight. Where is thy master? Nay, I cannot tell, nor the Frier neither. I heare them holloo, farre off in the wod. Come Much, canst lead us where as Scarlet is? Never feare you; follow me.     [Exeunt, hollooing.	(see note) (see note) (see note) worthy dignitaries deer bow reproof (see note) (see note) hour put things in order Wounded (Aggrieved); (see note) lest eyes high (see note) (see note) were walking; (see note) (see note) clever (see note) except for if
Scene II
80 85 90 95 100	Doncaster Prior Doncaster Prior Doncaster Prior Doncaster Prior Doncaster Prior Doncaster Prior	[Enter Sir Doncaster, Prior. You were resolved to have him poysoned, Or kild, or made away, you car'd not how. What divell makes you doubtfull to doo't? Why, Doncaster, his kindnesse in our needes. A plague upon his kindnesse, let him die. I never temperd poyson in my life, but I imployd it. By th'masse and I loose this, For ever looke to loose my company. But will you give it him? That cannot bee. The Queene, Earle Chester, and Earle Salsbury, If they once see mee, I am a deade man. Or did they heare my name, Ile lay my life, They all would hunt me, for my life. What hast thou done to them? Faith, some odde toyes, That made me fly the south. But passe wee them. Here is the poyson. Will you give it Robin? Now by this gold I will. Or as I said, for ever I defie your company. Well, he shall die, and in his jollity; And in my head I have a policy To make him die disgrac't. O tell it Prior. I will, but not as now.     [Call the Frier within. Weele seeke a place; the wods have many eares, And some methinkes are calling for the Frier.        [Exeunt.	devil (see note) mixed if I lose tricks (see note) (see note) (see note) (see note)
Scene III
106 110 115 120 125 130 135 140 145 150 155 160 165 170 175 180 185 190 195 200 205 210 215 220 225 230 235 240 245 250 255 260 265 270 275 280 285 290 295 300 305 310 315 320 325	John Scathlocke Frier Robin Frier Robin Both Robin Warman Doncaster Warman Prior Warman Doncaster Warman Prior Warman Doncaster Warman Prior Doncaster Prior Warman Doncaster Prior Doncaster Prior Warman Doncaster Warman Prior Doncaster Warman Prior Doncaster Prior Doncaster Prior Robin Prior Robin Doncaster Robin Prior Doncaster Robin Prior Robin Prior Robin Prior Robin Prior Robin Prior Doncaster Prior Doncaster Prior Doncaster Prior Doncaster Prior	[Enter, calling the Frier, as afore. The Frier, the Frier? Why, where's this Frier?     [Enter Frier. Here, sir. What is your desire?        [Enter Robin Hoode. Why, Frier, what a murren dost thou meane? The King cals for thee. For, a mightie stagge, That hath a copper ring about his necke, With letters on it, which hee would have read, Hath Scarlet kild, I pray thee goe thy way. Master, I will; no longer will I stay.     [Exit. Good unkle, be more carefull of your health, And you, Sir Doncaster, your wounds are greene. Through your great kindnes, we are comforted. And, Warman, I advise you to more mirth. Shun solitary walkes, keepe company, Forget your fault: I have forgiven the fault. Good Warman be more blithe, and at this time, A little helpe my Marian and her maide. Much shall come to you straight. A little now, We must al strive to doe the best we may.     [Exit winding. On you and her Ile waite, untill my dying day.        [Exeunt, and as they are going out, Doncaster puls        Warman. Warman, a word. My good Lord Prior and I Are full of griefe, to see thy misery. My misery, Sir Doncaster? Why, I thanke God, I never was in better state than now. Why, what a servile slavish minde hast thou? Art thou a man, and canst be such a beast, Asse-like to beare the burthen of thy wrong? What wrong have I? Ist wrong to be reliev'd? Reliev'd saist thou? Why, shallow witted foole, Dost thou not see Robins ambitious pride? And how he clymes by pittying, and aspires, By humble lookes, good deedes, and such fond toyes, To be a monarch, raigning over us, As if wee were the vassals to his will? I am his vassall, and I will be still. Warman, thou art a foole. I doe confesse, Were these good deedes done in sinceritie, Pittie of mine, thine or this knights distresse, Without vaine brags, it were true charitie; But to relieve our fainting bodies wants, And grieve our soules with quippes, and bitter braids, Is good turnes overturnd. No thanks wee owe To any, whatsoever helps us so. Neither himselfe, nor any that hee keepes, Ever upbraided mee, since I came last. O God have mercie on thee, silly asse. Doth he not say to every gueste that comes: "This same is Warman, that was once my steward?" And what of that? Ist not as much to say: "Why, here he stands that once did mee betray?" Did hee not bring a troope to grace himselfe, Like captives waiting on a conquerours chaire, And calling of them out, by one and one, Presented them, like fairings, to the king? O, I; there was a rare invention. A plague upon the foole. I hate him worse for that than all the rest. Why should you hate him? Why should you or you Envie this noble Lord, thus as you doe? Nay rather, why dost thou not joyne in hate With us, that lately liv'dst like us, in wealthy state? Remember this, remember foolish man, How thou hast bene the Shrieve of Notingham. Cry to thy thoughts, let this thought never cease, I have bene Justice of my Soveraignes Peace, Lord of faire livings; men with cap and knee, In liveries waited howerly on mee. And when thou thinkst, thou hast bene such and such, Thinke then what tis to be a mate to Much, To runne when Robin bids, come at his call, Be mistresse Marians man. Nay thinke withall. What shall I thinke? but thinke upon my need, When men fed dogs, and me they would not feede, When I despaird through want, and sought to die, My pitious master, of his charitie, Forgave my fault, reliev'd and saved mee. This doe I thinke upon, and you should thinke, If you had hope of soules salvation, First, Prior, that he is of thy flesh and bloode, That thou art unkle unto Robin Hoode, That by extortion thou didst his lands. God and I know how it came to thy hands, How thou pursu'dst him in his misery, And how heaven plagu'd thy hearts extreamitie. Thinke, Doncaster, when, hired by this Prior, Thou cam'st to take my master with the Frier, And wert thyselfe tane, how he set thee free, Gave thee an hundred pound to comfort thee, And both bethinke yee how but yesterday, Wounded and naked in the fielde you lay, How with his owne hand he did raise your heads, Powrd balme into your wounds, your bodies fed, Watcht when yee slept, wept when he sawe your woe. Stay Warman, stay. I grant that he did so, And you, turnd honest, have forsworne the villainé? Even from my soule, I villany defie. A blessed hower, a fit time now to die! And you shall, Conscience.     [Stab him, he fals. O forgive mee, God, And save my master from their bloodie hands. What, hast thou made him sure? Its deade sure: he is dead, if that be sure. Then let us thrust the dagger in his hand, And when the next comes, cry he kild himselfe. That must be now. Yonder comes Robin Hood. No life in him. No, no, not any life.     [Enter Robin. Three mortall wounds have let in piercing ayre, And at their gaps, his life is cleane let out. Who is it, uncle, that you so bemone? Warman, good nephew, whom Sir Doncaster and I Found freshly bleeding, as he now doth lye. You were scarce gone, when he did stab himselfe. O God, he in his own hand houlds his own harts hurt; I dreaded too much his distressed looke. Belike the wretch despaird and slewe himselfe. Nay, thats most sure, yet he had little reason, Considering how well you used him. Well, I am sorie; but must not be sad, Because the King is comming to my bower. Helpe mee, I pray thee, to remoove his bodie, Least he should come and see him murdered. Sometime anone he shall be buried.     [Exeunt Robin, Doncaster, with body. Good, all is good. This is as I desire. Now for a face of pure hypocrisie. Sweete murder, cloath thee in religious weedes, Raigne in my bosome, that with helpe of thee, I may effect this Robins Tragedie.        [Enter Robin, Doncaster. Nay, nay, you must not take this thing so heavily. A bodies losse, Sir Doncaster, is much; But a soules, too, is more to be bemon'd. Truly I wonder at your vertuous minde. O God, to one so kinde, who'ud be unkinde! Let goe this griefe, now must you put on joy, And for the many favours I have found, So much exceeding all conceipt of mine, Unto your cheere, Ile adde a pretious drinke, Of colour rich, and red, sent mee from Rome. There's in it Moly, Syrian Balsamum, Golds rich Elixir--O tis pretious! Where it is uncle? As yesterday, Sir Doncaster and I rid on our way, Theeves did beset us, bound us as you saw; And, among other things, did take from mee This rich confection. But regardlesly, As common drinke, they cast, into a bush, The bottle, which this day Sir Doncaster Fetcht, and hath left it in the inner lodging. I tell you, cosin (I doe love you well), A pint of this ransomde the Sophies sonne, When he was taken in Natolia. I meant indeede to give it my liege lord, In hope to have his favour; but to you I put myselfe, be my good friend, And, in your owne restoring, mee restore. Unkle, I will. You neede urge that no more. But whats the vertues of this pretious drinke? It keepes fresh youth, restores diseased sight, Helps natures weakenesse, smothes the scars of wounds, And cooles the intrals with a balmie breath, When they by thirst or travell boyle with heate. Unkle, I thanke you, pray you let me have A cuppe prepared, gainst the King comes in, To coole his heate. Myselfe will give it him. And when he drinkes, be bold to say he drinkes A richer draught than that dissolved pearle Which Cleopatra dranke to Antonie. I have much businesse; let it be your charge To make this rich draught readie for the King, And I will quit it, pray yee doe not faile.     [Exit. I warrant you, good nephew. Better, and better still. We thought before but to have poysond him, And now shall Robin Hoode destroy the King. Even when the King, the Queen, the Prince, the Lords Joy in his vertues, this supposed vice Will turne to sharpe hate their exceeding love. Ha, ha, ha, I cannot chuse but laugh, To see my cosin cosend in this sort. Faile him quoth you? Nay hang mee if I doe. But, Doncaster, art sure the poysons are well mixt? Tut, tut, let me alone for poysoning. I have alreadie turnd ore foure or five That angerd mee. But tell mee Prior, Wherefore so deadly dost thou hate thy cosin? Shall I be plaine? Because if he were deade, I should be made the Earle of Huntington. A prettie cause. But thou a church-man art. Tut, man, if that would fall, Ile have a dispensation, and turne temporall. But tell mee, Doncaster, why dost thou hate him? By the Masse, I cannot tel. O yes, now I ha't. I hate thy cousin, Earle of Huntington, Because so many love him as there doe, And I myselfe am loved of so fewe. Nay, I have other reasons for my hate; Hee is a foole, and will be reconcilde To anie foe hee hath; he is too milde, Too honest for this world, fitter for heaven. Hee will not kill these greedie cormorants, Nor strippe base pesants of the wealth they have; He does abuse a thieves name and an outlawes, And is indeede no outlawe, nor no theefe-- He is unworthy of such reverent names. Besides, he keepes a paltry whinling girle, And will not bed, forsooth, before he bride. Ile stand too't, he abuses maidenhead, That will not take it, being offered, Hinders the common wealth of able men. Another thing I hate him for againe: He saies his prayers, fasts eves, gives alms, does good. For these and such like crimes, sweares Doncaster To worke the speedie death of Robin Hoode. Well said, yfaith. Harke, hark, the King returns. To doe this deede, my heart like fuel burns.     [Exeunt.	(see note) pestilence; (see note) (see note) (see note) tricks (see note) (see note) gifts from a fair; (see note) Oh, indeed (see note) hourly possessed taken Poured villainy (see note) (see note) (see note) (see note) precious (see note) (see note) (see note) without regard (see note) ransomed; (see note) (see note) (see note) before (see note) you can rely on me murdered secular (see note) (see note) (see note) rapacious persons; (see note) (see note) whining
Scene IIII
331 335 340 345 350 355 360 365 370 375 380 385 390 395 400 405 410 415 420 425 430 435 440 445 450 455	King Frier Queene Chester John King Both Much King Much John Frier King Fitzwater King Chester King John King Frier King Frier King Frier King Robin Frier Robin Queene Frier John Frier Robin King Robin King Robin Frier	[Windehornes. Enter King, Queene, John, Fitzwater,        Ely, Chester, Salsbury, Lester, Little John, Frier Tuck, Scar-        let, Scathlocke, and Much. Frier Tuck carrying a stags        head, dauncing. Gramercy, Frier, for thy glee, Thou greatly hast contented mee, What with thy sporting and thy game, I sweare I highly pleased am. It was my masters whole desire That maiden, yeoman, swaine and frier Their arts and wits should all apply, For pleasure of your Majestie. Sonne Richard, looke I pray you on the ring That was about the necke of the last stagge. Was his name Scarlet, that shot off his necke? Chester, it was this honest fellow Scarlet. This is the fellowe, and a yeoman bold, As ever courst the swift hart on the molde. Frier, heres somewhat grav'd upon the ring, I pray thee reade it. Meanewhile list to mee.        [This while, most compassing the Frier about the ring. Scarlet and Scathlock, you bold bretheren, Twelve pence a day I give each for his fee, And henceforth see yee live like honest men. We will, my Liege, else let us dye the death. A boone, a boone, upon my knee, Good King Richard, I begge of thee. For indeede, sir, the troth is, Much is my father, and hee is one of your tenants in Kings Mill at Wakefield all on a greene. O there dwelleth a jolly pinder, at Wake- field all on a greene. Now I would have you, if you wil doe so much for mee, to set mee forward in the way of marriage to Jinny: the mill would not be cast away upon us. Much, be thou ever master of that mill; I give it thee for thin inheritance. Thanks, pretious Prince of curtesie. Ile to Jinny and tell her of my lands yfaith.     [Exit. Here, Frier, here, here it begins. [reads]: "When Harold hare-foote raigned king, About my necke he put this ring." In Harolds time, more than a hundred yeare, Hath this ring bene about his newe slaine deere! I am sory now it dyde; but let the same Head, ring and all be sent to Notingham, And in the castle kept for monuments. My Leige, I heard an olde tale long agoe, That Harold being Goodwins sonne of Kent, When he had got faire Englands government, Hunted for pleasure once within this wood, And singled out a faire and stately stagge, Which, foote to foote, the king in running caught. And sure this was the stagge. It was no doubt. But some, my Lord, affirme That Julius Caesar, many yeares before, Tooke such a stag, and such a poesie writ. It should not be in Julius Caesars time: There was no English bred in this land, Untill the Saxons came, and this is writ In Saxon characters. Well, 'twas a goodly beast.        [Enter Robin Hoode. How now Earle Robert? A forfet, a forfet, my liege Lord. My masters lawes are on record; The Court-roll here your Grace may see. I pray thee, Frier, read them mee. One shall suffice, and this is hee. No man that commeth in this wod To feast or dwell with Robin Hood Shall call him Earle, Lord, Knight, or Squire; He no such titles doth desire, But Robin Hood, plaine Robin Hoode, That honest yeoman stout and good, On paine of forfetting a marke, That must be paid to me his clarke. My liege, my liege, this lawe you broke, Almost in the last word you spoke. That crime may not acquited bee, Till Frier Tuck receive his fee.     [Casts him purse. Theres more than twenty marks, mad Frier. If thus you pay the clarke his hire, Oft may you forfet, I desire. You are a perfect penitent, And well you doe your wrong repent. For this your Highnesse liberall gift, I here absolve you without shrift. Gramercies, Frier. Now, Robin Hood, Sith Robin Hood it needes must bee, I was about to aske before If thou didst see the great stags fall. I did my Lord, I sawe it all. But missing this same prating Frier, And hearing you so much desire To have the lozels companie, I went to seeke small honestie. But you found much, when you found mee. I, Much my man, but a jot Of honestie in thee, God wot. Robin, you doe abuse the Frier. Madam, I dare not call him lyer; He may be bold with mee, he knowes. How now, Prince John, how goes, how goes This wod-mans life with you today? My fellow Wodnet you would bee. I am thy fellowe, thou dost see. And to be plaine, as God me save, So well I like thee, merry knave, That I thy company must have. Nay, and I will. Nay, and you shall. My Lord, you neede not feare at all, But you shall have his company, He will be bold I warrant yee. Know you where ere a spring is nie? Faine would I drink, I am right dry. I have a drinke within my bower, Of pleasing taste and soveraigne power. My reverend uncle gives it mee To give unto your Majestie. I would be loath indeede, being in heate, To drinke cold water. Let us to thy bower. Runne Frier before, and bid my unkle be in readines. Gon with a trice, on such good business.     [Exeunt omnes.	song pursued; earth (see note) (see note) (see note) (see note) accountant wage confession fool's only knows (see note) (see note)
Scene V
460 465 470 475 480 485 490 495 500 505 510 515 520 525 530 535 540 545 550 555 560 565 570 575 580 585 590 595 600 605 610 615 620 625 630 635 640 645 650 655 660 665 670 675 680 685 690 695 700 705 710 715 720 725 730 735 740 745 750 755 760 765 770 775 780 785 790 795 800 805 810 815 820 825 830 835 840 845 850 855 860 865 870 875	Marian Much Marian Jinny Marian Much Marian Much Marian Jinny Marian Doncaster Prior Marian Prior Frier Doncaster Frier Prior Frier Prior Marian King Marian King Robin Frier Much King Robin King Robin Marian Robin King Robin Fitzwater Robin King Robin Queene Doncaster Marian Robin Queene Robin King Robin Marian John Robin Fitzwater Doncaster King Doncaster Chester King Chester Queene Doncaster Queene King Fitzwater Chester Richard Salsbury Doncaster King Doncaster Ely Doncaster Ely Doncaster Prior Doncaster Prior Doncaster Fitzwater Prior All Robin Prior Robin Prior Robin King Prior Doncaster Prior King Doncaster John Robin King Robin Queene John Robin Matilda Robin Fitzwater Robin Matilda Fitzwater King Frier Frier Chester Frier	[Enter Marian, with a white apron. What, Much? What, Jinny? Much? I say.     [Enter Much. Whats the matter, mistresse? I pray thee see the fueller Suffer the cooke to want no wodde. Good Lord, where is this idle girle? Why, Jinny? [within]     I come, forsooth. I pray thee bring the flowers forth. Ile goe send her mistres, and help the cookes, if they have any neede.     [Exit Much. Dispatch, good Much. What, Jin, I say?        [Enter Jinny. Hie thee, hie thee: she cals for life. Indeede, indeede, you doe me wrong, To let me cry and call so long. Forsooth, I strawed the dining bowers And smoth'd the walkes with hearbes and flowers, The yeomens tables I have I have spied, Drest salts, laid trenchers, set on bread-- Nay all is well, I warrant you. You are not well, I promise you, Your forsleeves are not pind (fie, fie) And all your hed-geere stands awry. Give me the flowers. Goe in for shame, And quickly see you mend the same.     [Exit Jinny.        [Marian strewing flowers. Enter Sir Doncaster, Prior. How busie mistresse Marian is? She thinkes this is her day of blisse. But it shall be the wofull'st day That ever chancst her, if I may. Why are you two thus in the ayre? Your wounds are greene, Good cuz, have care. Thanks for your kindnesse, gentle maid. My cosin Robert us hath praid To helpe him in this businesse.        [Enter Frier. Sir Doncaster, Sir Doncaster? Holla. I pray you, did you see the Prior? Why, here I am. What wouldst thou, Frier? The King is heated in the chace, And posteth hitherward apace. He told my master he was dry, And hee desires ye presently To send the drinke whereof ye spake.     [Hornes blowe. Come, it is here; haste let us make.        [Exeunt Prior, Doncaster, and Frier.        [Enter King, John, Queene, Scarlet, Scathlocke, Ely, Fitz-        water, Salsbury, Chester. Marian kneeles downe. Most gratious Soveraigne, welcome once again. Welcome to you and all your princely traine. Thanks, lovely hostesse; we are homely guests. Wheres Robin Hood? He promised me some drinke. Your handmaid. Robin will not then be long. The Frier indeede came running to his unkle, Who with Sir Doncaster were here with mee, And altogether went for such a drinke. Well, in a better time it could not come, For I am very hot and passing dry.        [Enter Robin Hoode, a cuppe, a towell, leading Doncaster.        Tuck, and Much pulling the Prior.] Traitor, Ile draw thee out before the King. Come, murderous Prior. Come yee, dogges face. Why, how now Robin? Wheres the drink you bring? Lay holde on these. Farre be it I should bring your Majestie, The drinke these two prepared for your taste. Why, Robin Hoode, be briefe and answere mee. I am amazed at thy troubled lookes. Long will not my ill lookes amaze your Grace. I shortly looke, never to looke againe. Never to looke? What will it still be night? If thou looke never, day can never be. What ailes my Robin? Wherefore dost thou faint? Because I cannot stand; yet now I can.     [King and Marian support him. Thanks to my King, and thanks to Marian. Robin, be briefe, and tell us what hath chanst? I must be briefe, for I am sure of death, Before a long tale can be halfeway tolde. Of death, my sonne, bright sunne of all my joy? Death cannot have the power of vertuous life. Not of the vertues, but the life it can. What dost thou speak of death? How shouldst thou die? By poison and the Priors treachery. Why, take this soveraigne pouder at my hands, Take it and live in spite of poysons power. I, set him forward. Powders, quoth ye? Hah, I am a foole then, if a little dust, The shaving of a horne, a Bezars stone, Or any antidote have power to stay The execution of my hearts resolve. Tut, tut, you labour, lovely Queene, in vaine, And on a thanklesse groome your toyle bestowe. Now hath your foe reveng'd you of your foe; Robin shall die, if all the world sayd no. How the wolfe howles! Fly like a tender kid Into thy sheepeheards bosome. Shield mee love. Canst thou not, Robin? Where shall I be hid? O God, these ravens will seaze upon thy dove. They cannot hurt thee, pray thee do not feare, Base curres will couch, the Lyon being neare. How workes my powder? Very well, faire Queene. Dost thou feele any ease? I shall, I trust, anone: Sleepe fals upon mine eyes. O I must sleepe, and they that love me, do not waken me. Sleepe in my lap, and I will sing to thee. He should not sleepe. I must, for I must die. While I live therfore let me have some rest. I, let him rest; the poyson urges sleepe. When he awakes, there is no hope of life. Of life? Now by the little time I have to live, He cannot live one hower for your lives. Villaine, what art thou? Why, I am a knight. Thou wert indeede. If it so please your Grace, I will describe my knowledge of this wretch. Doe, Chester. This Doncaster, for so the fellon hight, Was, by the king your father, made a knight, And well in armes he did himselfe behave. Many a bitter storme, the winde of rage Blasted this realme with, in those woful daies, When the unnaturall fights continued, Betweene your kingly father and his sonnes. This cut-throat, knighted in that time of woe, Seaz'd on a beautious nunne at Barkhamsted As wee were marching toward Winchester After proud Lincolne was compeld to yield; Hee tooke this virgine straying in the field, For all the nunnes and every covent fled The daungers that attended on our troopes. For those sad times too oft did testifie, Wars rage hath no regard of pietie. She humbly praid him, for the love of heaven, To guid her to her fathers, two miles thence. He swore he would, and very well he might, For to the campe he was a forager. Upon the way they came into a wood, Wherein, in briefe, he stript this tender maid Whose lust, when she in vaine had long withstood, Being by strength and torments overlaid, He did a sacrilegious deede of rape And left her bath'd in her owne teares and blood. When she reviv'd, she to her fathers got, And got her father to make just complaint Unto your mother, being then in campe. Is this the villaine Chester, that defilde Sir Eustace Stutuiles chast and beautious childe? I, Madam, this is hee, That made a wench daunce naked in a wood; And for shee did denie what I desirde, I scourg'd her for her pride till her faire skinne With stripes was checkred like a vintners grate. And what was this? A mighty matter sure. I have a thousand more than she defilde, And cut the squeaking throats of some of them: I grieve I did not hirs. Punish him, Richard. A fairer virgine never sawe the sunne. A chaster maid was never sworne a nunne. How scap't the villaine punishment, that time? I rent his spurres off, and disgraded him. And then he raild upon the Queene and mee. Being committed, he his keeper slue, And to your father fled, who pardond him. God give his soule a pardon for that sinne. O had I heard his name, or seene his face, I had defended Robin from this chance. Ah villaine, shut those gloomy lights of thine, Remembrest thou a little sonne of mine, Whose nurse at Wilton first thou ravishedst And slew'st two maids that did attend on them? I grant, I dasht the braines out of a brat, Thine if he were, I care not; had he bin The first borne comfort of a royall king, And should have yald when Doncaster cried peace, I would have done by him as then I did. Soone shall the world be rid of such a wretch. Let him be hangd alive, in the high way that joyneth to the bower. Alive or deade, I reck not how I die. You, them, and these, I desperately defie. Repent, or never looke to be absolv'd, But die accurst as thou deservest well. Then give me my desert; curse one by one. First I accurse thee, and, if thou persist, Unto damnation leave thee wretched man. What doe I care for your damnation? Am I not doom'd to death? What more damnation Can there insue your loud and yelling cryes? Yes divell. Heare thy fellowe spirit speake, Who would repent. O faine he would repent. After this bodies bitter punishment, There is an ever-during endlesse woe, A quenchlesse fire, and unconsuming paine, Which desperate soules and bodies must indure. Can you preach this, yet set me on, Sir Prior, To runne into this endlesse, quenchlesse fier? High heavens, shewe mercie to my many ils. Never had this bene done, but like a fiend, Thou temptedst me with ceaselesse divelish thoughts. Therefore I curse, with bitternesse of soule, The hower wherein I saw thy balefull eyes. My eyes I curse, for looking on those eyes. My eares I curse, for harkning to thy tongue. I curse thy tongue for tempting of myne eares, Each part I curse, that wee call thine or mine: Thine for enticing mine, mine following thine. A holy prayer. What collect have we next?        [This time Robin stirres. My Marian wanteth words, such is her woe; But old Fitzwater for his girle and him Begs nothing, but worlds plague for such a foe, Which causelesse harmd a vertuous noble man, A pitier of his griefes, when he felt griefe. Therefore bethinke thee of thy hatefull deede, Thou faithlesse Prior, and thou this ruthlesse theefe. Will no man curse me, giving so much cause? Then, Doncaster, ourselves ourselves accurse, And let no good betide to thee or mee.        [All the yeomen, Frier, Much, Jinny cry. Amen, amen: accursed may ye bee, For murdring Robin, flower of curtesie.        [Robin sits up. O ring not such a peale for Robins death; Let sweete forgivenesse be my passing bell. Art thou there, Marian? Then fly forth my breath. To die within thy armes contents me well. Keepe in, keepe in a little while thy soule, Till I have powr'd my soule forth at thy feete. I slept not, unkle; I your griefe did hear. Let Him forgive your soule that bought it deare. Your bodies deede, I in my death forgive, And humbly begge the King that you may live. Stand to your cleargie, unkle, save your life, And lead a better life than you have done. O gentle nephew, ah my brothers sonne, Thou dying glory of old Huntington, Wishest thou life to such a murdrous foe? I will not live, sith thou must life forgoe. O happie Warman, blessed in thy end, Now too too late thy truth I doe commend. O nephew, nephew, Doncaster and I Murdred poore Warman, for he did denie To joyne with us in this blacke tragedy. Alas, poore Warman. Frier, Little John, I told ye both where Warmans bodie lay. And of his buriall Ile dispose anone. Is there no lawe, Lord Ely, to convict This Prior, that confesseth murders thus? He is a hallowed man and must be tried And punisht by the censure of the Church. The Church therin doth erre: God doth allowe No canon to preserve a murderers life. Richard, King Richard, in thy grandsires daies, A law was made, the Cleargie sworne thereto, That whatsoever Church-man did commit Treason, or murder, or false felonie, Should like a seculer be punished. Treason we did, for sure we did intend King Richards poisoning, soveraigne of this land. Murder we did in working Warmans end, And my deare nephewes, by this fatall hand, And theft we did, for we have robd the King, The state, the nobles, commons, and his men, Of a true peere, firme piller, liberall lord. Fitzwater we have robd of a kinde sonne, And Marians love-joyes we have quite undoone. Whoppe, what a coyle is here with your confession? I aske but judgement for my foule transgression. Thy own mouth hath condemned thee. Hence with him. Hang this man dead, then see him buried; But let the other hang alive in chaines. I thank you, sir.        [Exeunt yeomen, Frier, prisoners, Much. Myselfe will goe, my Lord, And see sharpe justice done upon these slaves. O goe not hence, Prince John. A word or two Before I die I faine would say to you. Robin, wee see what we are sad to see, Death like a champion treading downe thy life. Yet in thy end somwhat to comfort thee, Wee freely give to thy betrothed wife, Beautious and chast Matilda, all those lands, Falne by thy folly, to the Priors hands, And by his fault now forfetted to mee. Earle Huntington, she shall thy Countesse bee, And thy wight yeomen, they shall wend with mee, Against the faithlesse enemies of Christ. Bring forth a beere, and cover it with greene,        [A beere is brought in. That on my death-bed I may here sit downe.        [Beere brought, he sits. At Robins buriall let no blacke be seene, Let no hand give for him a mourning gowne: For in his death, his King hath given him life, By this large gift, given to his maiden wife. Chaist Maid Marilda, Countess of account, Chase, with thy bright eyes, all these clouds of woe From these faire cheekes, I pray thee sweete do so. Thinke it is bootelesse folly to complaine, For that which never can be had againe. Queene Elianor, you once were Matilds foe; Prince John, you long sought her unlawfull love; Let dying Robin Hood intreat you both, To change those passions: Madame, turne your hate, To princely love; Prince John, convert your love To vertuous passions, chast and moderate. O that your gratious right hands would infolde, Matildas right hand, prisoned in my palme, And sweare to doe what Robin Hood desires. I sweare I will, I will a mother be, To faire Matildas life and chastitie. When John solicites chaste Matildaes eares With lawlesse sutes, as he hath often done, Or offers to the altars of her eyes, Lascivious poems, stuft with vanities, He craves to see but short and sower daies, His death be like to Robins he desires, His perjur'd body prove a poysoned prey, For cowled monkes, and barefoote begging friers. Inough, inough. Fitzwater, take your child. My dying frost which no sunnes heat can thawe Closes the powers of all my outward parts; My freezing blood runnes backe 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 goe not yet, Matilda, stay a while. Frier, make speede, and list my latest will. O let mee looke forever in thy eyes, And lay my warme breath to thy bloodlesse lips, If my sight can restraine deaths tyrannies, Or keepe lives breath within thy bosome lockt. Away, away, Forbeare, my love; all this is but delay. Come, maiden daughter, from my maiden sonne, And give him leave to doe what must be done. First I bequeath my soule to all soules Saver, And will my bodie to be buried At Wakefield, underneath the abbey wall. And in this order make my funerall: When I am dead, stretch me upon this beere, My beades and primer shall my pillowe bee; On this side lay my bowe, my good shafts here, Upon my brest the crosse, and underneath My trustie sworde, thus fastned in the sheath. Let Warmans bodie at my feete be laid, Poore Warman, that in my defence did die; For holy dirges, sing me wodmens songs As ye to Wakefield walke, with voices shrill. This for myselfe. My goods and plate I give Among my yeomen; them I doe bestowe Upon my Soveraigne, Richard. This is all. My liege farewell, my love, farewell, farewell. Farewell, faire Queene, Prince John and noble lords. Father Fitzwater, heartily adieu, Adieu, my yeomen tall. Matilda, close mine eyes. Frier farewell, farewell to all. O must my hands with envious death conspire, To shut the morning gates of my lives light? It is a duetie, and thy loves desire, Ile helpe thee girle to close up Robins sight. Laments are bootelesse, teares cannot restore Lost life. Matilda, therefore weepe no more. And since our mirth is turned into mone, Our merry sport, to tragick funerall, Wee will prepare our power for Austria, After Earle Roberts timelesse buriall. Fall to your wod-songs therefore, yeoman bold, And deck his herse with flowers, that lov'd you deare, Dispose his goods as hee hath them dispos'd. Fitzwater and Matilda, bide you here. See you the bodie unto Wakefield borne, A little wee will beare yee company, But all of us at London point to meete. Thither, Fitzwater, bring Earle Robins men: And Frier, see you come along with them. Ah, my liege Lord, the Frier faints, And hath no words to make complaints; But since he must forsake this place, He will awaite, and thanks, your Grace. Song: Weepe, weepe, ye wod-men waile,      Your hands with sorrow wring:      Your master Robin Hood lies deade,      Therefore sigh as you sing. Here lies his primer and his beades, His bent bowe and his arrowes keene, His good sworde and his holy crosse, Now cast on flowers fresh and greene:      And as they fall, shed teares and say,      Wella, wella day, wella, wella day;      Thus cast yee flowers and sing,      And on to Wakefield take your way.     [Exeunt all except Frier. Here dothe the Frier leave with grievance. Robin is deade, that grac't his entrance; And being dead he craves his audience, With this short play, they would have patience.        [Enter Chester. Nay, Fryer, at request of thy kinde friend, Let not thy Play so soone be at an end. Though Robin Hoode be deade, his yeomen gone, And that thou thinkst there now remaines not one, To act an other Sceane or two for thee; Yet knowe full well, to please this company, We meane to end Matildaes Tragedie. Off then, I with you, with your Kendall greene: Let not sad griefe in fresh aray be seene. Matildaes storie is repleat with teares, Wrongs, desolations, ruins, deadly feares. In, and attire yee. Though I tired be, Yet will I tell my mistresse Tragedie.	(see note) Hurry Hasten (see note) chase (see note) exceedingly (see note) expose you (see note) (see note) Aye (see note) (see note) even if (see note) (see note) (see note) (see note) (see note) (see note) slew (see note) devil hour offering (see note) poured Claim benefit of clergy (see note) (see note) stout (see note) bier (see note) stuffed sour Saviour (see note) rosary; prayer book duty moan untimely (see note) prayer book (see note) (see note) (see note)
[As Friar Tuck announces the woes to follow, Chorus (played perhaps by Chester, who must have exited after line 872), appears in black. Tuck says we must "suppose king Richard now is deade, / And John, resistlesse [i.e., without resistence], is faire Englands Lord" (lines 903-04). Chorus introduces a dumb show which reveals three dreams of the sleeping King John: Austria appears, tempting him to add to his kingdom by conquest, but the king puts by Ambition. Constance (wife of Geoffrey, Henry II's third son, who was John's older brother) then appears (line 937) leading her young son Arthur, Duke of Brittany; both seek the crown but King John's foot "overturneth them" (line 938). Next, Insurrection, led by the French King and Lord Hugh le Brun, brings the child Arthur back to menace the king; this time when the king's foot overthrows Arthur he is taken up dead (line 943) and Insurrection flees. In the third dumb show/dream Queen Isabel (John's second wife), with her two children (the Princes Henry and Richard), wrings her hands while John turns his attention to chaste Matilda in mourning veil. Smitten by love, John resumes his "sutes, devices, practices and threats: / And when he sees all serveth to no end, / Of chaste Matilda let him make an end" (lines 891-93). During the next 2100 lines Matilda never yields to his pressure, takes refuge in a convent, but ultimately is poisoned by Brand, one of John's agents. The dying Matilda forgives her executioner, who, in remorse, confesses to having slain a hundred "with mine owne hands" (line 2621), including Lady Bruce and her young son George at Windsor Castle (lines 2622-23). Brand, stunned by Matilda's virtuous behavior at her death, escapes during the confusion and, Judas-like, hangs himself with his own garters in a tree. The branch breaks and his "bones and flesh / lie gasht together in a poole of bloode" (lines 2694-95). Bruce, who arrives too late to save his mother and brother, seizes Windsor Castle, and the barons confront King John, knowing that King Louis of France has landed in England to support their cause against the king. But they will not serve Louis: "can noble English hearts beare the French yoke?" (line 2998). When Queen Isabel, who sides with the rebel barons, allows that they know not the French king's nature--he may be worse than John--Bruce makes peace with John, who, having learned of Matilda's death, is now deeply repentent (lines 878–3033):]
3035 3040 3045 3050	Bruse King John Queene King John	Of Windsor Castle here the keyes I yield. Thanks, Bruse. Forgive mee, and I pray thee see Thy mother and thy brother buried.        [Bruse offers to kisse [the dead] Matilda. In Windsor Castle Church, doe kisse her cheeke. Weepe thou on that, on this side I will weepe. Chaste virgine, thus I crowne thee with these flowers. Let us goe on to Dunmow with this maid; Among the hallowed nunnes let her be laide. Unto her tombe, a monthly pilgrimage Doth King John vowe in penance for this wrong. Goe forward maids; on with Matildaes herse, And on her toombe see you ingrave this verse:      Within this marble monument, doth lye      Matilda martyrde for her chastitie.     [Exeunt. Epilogus. Thus is Matildaes story showne in act. And rough heawen out by an uncunning hand, Being of the most materiall points compackt, That with the certainst state of truth doe stand. FINIS.	(see note) (see note) (see note) (see note) (see note)