JOAN.  Yet once more hear me speak:  leave off for shame, If not for love; and let not others laugh To see your follies; let me overrule you.

SHO.  Ay, let them fight, I care not:  I
Meantime away with Joan will fly;
And whilst they two are at it here,
We two will sport ourselves elsewhere.

ROB.  There’s a stone priest! he loveth a wench, indeed: 
He careth not though both of them do bleed;
But Robin Goodfellow will conjure you,
And mar your match, and bang you soundly too. 
I like this country-girl’s condition well;
She’s faithful, and a lover but to one: 
Robin stands here to right both Grim and her.

GRIM.  Master Parson, look you to my love. 
Miller, here I stand
With my heart and my hand
In sweet Jug’s right
With thee to fight.

CLACK.  Come, let us to it then.

    [They fight:  ROBIN beateth the miller
    with a flail, and felleth him.

ROB.  Now, miller, miller dustipoll
I’ll clapper-claw your jobbernole.

SHO.  Come, Jug, let’s leave these senseless blocks,
Giving each other blows and knocks.

JOAN.  I love my Grim too well to leave him so.

SHO.  You shall not choose:  come, let’s away.

    [SHORTHOSE pulleth JUG after him:  ROBIN
    beateth the priest with his flail.

ROB.  Nay then, sir priest, I’ll make you stay.

CLACK.  Nay, this is nothing, Grim; we’ll not part so. 
I thought to have borne it off with my back sword ward,
And I receiv’d it upon my bare costard.[471]
                                   [They fight again.

ROB.  What, miller, are you up again? 
Nay, then, my flail shall never lin,[472]
Until I force one of us twain
Betake him to his heels amain.

[ROBIN beats the miller again.

CLACK.  Hold thy hands, Grim! thou hast murder’d me.

GRIM.  Thou liest, it is in mine own offence I do it.  Get thee gone then: 
I had rather have thy room than thy company.

CLACK.  Marry, with all my heart.  O, the collier playeth the devil with me.

ROB.  No, it is the devil playeth the collier with thee. [Aside.]

SHO.  My bones are sore; I prythee, Joan,
Let’s quickly from this place be gone. 
Nay, come away, I love thee so,
Without thee I will never go.

ROB.  What, priest, still at your lechery?
                [ROBIN beats the priest. 
I’ll thrash you for your knavery. 
If any ask who beat thee so,
Tell them ’twas Robin Goodfellow.
                      [SHORTHOSE runneth away.

GRIM.  O miller, art thou gone?  I am glad of it.  I smelt my own infirmity every stroke I struck at him.  Now, Joan, I dare boldly swear thou art my own; for I have won thee in the plain field.  Now Master Parson shall even strike it up; two or three words of his mouth will make her gammer Grim all the days of her life after.