ROBIN
Yes, I will try, I will try!
But oh, the sunlight! Where better, sweet, than this?
[_She leads him to the throne of turf and he sits down upon it, with MARIAN at his side._]
The Friar is right. This life is wine, red wine, Under the greenwood boughs! Oh, still to keep it, One little glen of justice in the midst Of mult.i.tudinous wrong. Who knows? We yet May leaven the whole world.
[_Enter the Outlaws, with several prisoners, among them, a KNIGHT, an ABBOT, and a FORESTER._]
Those are the prisoners?
You had some victims of the forest laws That came to you for help. Bring them in, too, And set them over against these lords of the earth!
[_Some ragged women and children appear. Several serfs with iron collars round their necks and their eyes put out, are led gently in._]
Is that our Lincoln green among the prisoners?
There? One of my own band?
LITTLE JOHN
Ay, more"s the pity!
We took him out of pity, and he has wronged Our honour, sir; he has wronged a helpless woman Entrusted to his guidance thro" the forest.
ROBIN
Ever the same, the danger comes from those We fight for, those below, not those above!
Which of you will betray me to the King?
THE FORESTER
Do you ask _me_, sir?
ROBIN
Judas answered first, With "Master, is it I?" Hang not thy head!
What say"st thou to this charge?
THE FORESTER
Why, Friar Tuck Can answer for me. Do you think he cares Less for a woman"s lips than I?
FRIAR TUCK
Cares less, Thou rotten radish? Nay, but a vast deal more!
G.o.d"s three best gifts to man,--woman and song And wine, what dost _thou_ know of all their joy?
Thou lean pick-purse of kisses?
ROBIN
Take him out, Friar, and let him pack his goods and go, Whither he will. I trust the knave to thee And thy good quarter-staff, for some five minutes Before he says "Farewell."
FRIAR
Bring him along, Give him a quarter-staff, I"ll thrash him roundly.
[_He goes out. Two of the FORESTERS follow with the prisoner.
Others bring the ABBOT before ROBIN._]
ROBIN
Ah! Ha! I know him, the G.o.dly usurer Of York!
LITTLE JOHN
We saw a woman beg for alms, One of the sufferers by the rule which gave This portly Norman his fat priory And his abundant lands. We heard him say That he was helpless, had not one poor coin To give her, not a sc.r.a.p of bread! He wears Purple beneath his cloak: his fine sleek palfrey Flaunted an Emperor"s trappings!
ABBOT
Man, the Church Must keep her dignity!
ROBIN
[_Pointing to the poor woman, etc._]
Ay, look at it!
There is your dignity! And you must wear Silk next your skin to show it. But there was one You call your Master, and He had not where To lay His head, save one of these same trees!
ABBOT
Do you blaspheme! I pray you, let me go!
There are grave matters waiting. I am poor!
ROBIN
Look in his purse and see.
ABBOT
[_Hurriedly._]
I have five marks In all the world, no more. I"ll give them to you!
ROBIN
Look in his purse and see.
[_They pour a heap of gold out of his purse._]
ROBIN