A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Viii Part 43

ELY. First I accurse thee; and if thou persist, Unto d.a.m.nation leave thee, wretched man.

DON. What do I care for your d.a.m.nation?

Am I not doomed to death? what more d.a.m.nation Can there ensue your loud and yelling cries?

PRIOR. Yes, devil! hear thy fellow-spirit speak-- Who would repent; O, fain he would repent!-- After this body's bitter punishment, There is an ever-during endless woe, A quenchless fire, an unconsuming pain, Which desperate souls and bodies must endure.

DON. Can you preach this, yet set me on, Sir Prior, To run into this endless, quenchless fire?

PRIOR. High heavens, show mercy to my many ills!

Never had this been done, but like a fiend Thou temptedst me with ceaseless devilish thoughts.

Therefore I curse with bitterness of soul The hour wherein I saw thy baleful eyes.

My eyes I curse for looking on those eyes!

My ears I curse for hearkening to thy tongue!

I curse thy tongue for tempting of mine ears!

Each part I curse, that we call thine or mine; Thine for enticing mine, mine following thine!

DON. A holy prayer. What collect have we next?

[_This time_ ROBIN _stirs_.

FITZ. My Marian wanteth words, such is her woe; But old Fitzwater, for his girl and him, Begs nothing but world's plague for such a foe, Which causeless harm'd a virtuous n.o.bleman, A pitier of his griefs, when he felt grief.

Therefore, bethink thee of thy hateful deed, Thou faithless Prior, and thou this ruthless thief.

PRIOR. Will no man curse me, giving so much cause?

Then, Doncaster, ourselves ourselves accurse, And let no good betide to thee or me!

[_All the Yeomen_, FRIAR, MUCH, JENNY _cry_.

ALL. Amen, amen! accursed may he be For murdering Robin, flower of courtesy.

[ROBIN _sits up_.

ROB. H. O, ring not such a peal for Robin's death!

Let sweet forgiveness be my pa.s.sing bell.

Art thou there, Marian? then fly forth, my breath: To die within thy arms contents me well.

PRIOR. Keep in, keep in a little while thy soul, Till I have pour'd my soul forth at thy feet.

ROB. H. I slept not, uncle; I your grief did hear, Let him forgive thy soul that bought it dear: Your body's deed I in my death forgive, And humbly beg the king that you may live.

Stand to your clergy, uncle;[286] save your life, And lead a better life than you have done.

PRIOR. O, gentle nephew! O, my brother's son, Thou dying glory of old Huntington!

Wishest thou life to such a murderous foe?

I will not live, since thou must life forego.

O, happy Warman! blessed in thy end; Now too-too late thy truth I do commend.

O, nephew, nephew! Doncaster and I Murder'd poor Warman, for he did deny To join with us in this black tragedy.

ROB. H. Alas, poor Warman! Friar, Little John, I told ye both where Warman's body lay, And of his burial I'll dispose anon.

KING. Is there no law, Lord Ely, to convict This Prior, that confesses murders thus?

ELY. He is a hallow'd man, and must be tried And punish'd by the censure of the church.

PRIOR. The church therein doth err: G.o.d doth allow No canon to preserve a murderer's life.

Richard! King Richard! in thy grandsire's days A law was made, the clergy sworn thereto, That whatsoever churchman did commit Treason or murder, or false felony, Should like a secular be punished.

Treason we did, for sure we did intend King Richard's poisoning, sovereign of this land.

Murder we did, in working Warman's end And my dear nephew's by this fatal hand: And theft we did, for we have robb'd the king, The state, the n.o.bles, commons, and his men, Of a true peer, firm pillar, liberal lord.

Fitzwater we have robbed of a kind son, And Marian's love-joys we have quite undone.

DON. Whoop! what a coil is here with your confession!

PRIOR. I ask but judgment for my foul transgression.

KING. Thy own mouth hath condemn'd thee.

Hence with him!

Hang this man dead, then see him buried; But let the other hang alive in chains.

DON. I thank you, sir.

[_Exeunt Yeomen_, FRIAR, _Prisoners_, MUCH.

JOHN. Myself will go, my lord, And see sharp justice done upon these slaves.

ROB. H. O, go not hence, Prince John! a word or two, Before I die, I fain would say to you.

KING. Robin, we see what we are sad to see-- Death, like a champion, treading down thy life: Yet in thy end, somewhat to comfort thee, We freely give to thy betrothed wife, Beauteous and chaste Matilda, all those lands, Fallen by thy folly to the Prior's hands, And by his fault now forfeited to me.

Earl Huntington, she shall thy countess be: And thy wight yeomen, they shall wend with me Against the faithless enemies of Christ.

ROB. H. Bring forth a bier, and cover it with green; That on my deathbed I may here sit down.

[_A bier is brought in. He sits_.

At Robin's 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 Matilda, 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 Elinor, you once were Matilda's foe; Prince John, you long sought her unlawful love: Let dying Robin Hood entreat you both To change those pa.s.sions: madam, turn your hate To princely love: Prince John, convert your love To virtuous pa.s.sion, chaste and moderate.

O, that your gracious right hands would enfold Matilda's right hand, prison'd in my palm, And swear to do what Robin Hood desires!

QUEEN. I swear I will: I will a mother be To fair Matilda's life and chast.i.ty.

JOHN. When John solicits chaste Matilda's ears With lawless suits, as he hath often done, Or offers to the altars of her eyes Lascivious poems, stuff'd with vanities, He craves to see but short and sour days: His death be like to Robin's he desires; His perjured body prove a poison'd prey For cowled monks and barefoot begging friars.

ROB. H. Enough, enough! Fitzwater, take your child.

My dying frost, which no sun's heat can thaw, Closes the powers of all my outward parts: My freezing blood runs back unto my heart, Where it a.s.sists 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 awhile.

Friar, make speed, and list my latest will.

MAT. O, let me look for ever in thy eyes, And lay my warm breath to thy bloodless lips, If my sight can restrain death's tyrannies, Or keep life's breath within thy bosom lock'd.

ROB. H. Away, away!

Forbear, my love; all this is but delay.