JOHN.  How now, Little John,
Have you no more discretion than you show?

ELY.  Lay hold, and clap the traitor by the heels.

LIT.  JOHN.  I am no traitor, my good Lord of Ely
First hear me, then commit me, if you please.

JOHN.  Speak, and be brief.

LIT.  JOHN.  Here is a little box,
Containing all my gettings twenty year,
Which is mine own, and no man’s but mine own: 
This they would rifle, this I do defend,
And about this we only do contend.

JOHN.  You do the fellow wrong:  his goods are his. 
You only must extend upon the Earl’s.

PRIOR.  That was, my lord, but now is Robert Hood;
A simple yeoman, as his servants were.

WIFE.  Back with that leg, my Lord Prior:  there be some that were his servants think foul scorn to be called yeomen.

PRIOR.  I cry your worship mercy, Mistress Warman: 
The squire, your husband, was his servant once.

LIT.  JOHN.  A scurvy squire, with reverence of these lords.

WIFE.  Does he not speak treason, pray?

ELY.  Sirrah, ye are too saucy:  get you hence.

WAR.  But hear me first, my lords, with patience. 
This scoffing, careless fellow, Little John,
Hath loaden hence a horse ’twixt him and Much,
A silly, rude knave—­Much, the miller’s son.

    Enter MUCH, Clown.

MUCH.  I am here to answer for myself, and have taken you in two lies at once:  first, Much is no knave, neither was it a horse Little John and I loaded, but a little curtal of some five handfuls high, sib to the ape’s only beast at Paris Garden.[176]

LIT.  JOHN.  But, Master Warman, you have loaded carts,
And turned my lord’s goods to your proper use. 
Whoever hath the right, you do the wrong,
And are—­

WIFE.  What is he, kneve?

LIT.  JOHN.  Unworthy to be nam’d a man.

MUCH.  And I’ll be sworn for his wife.

WIFE.  Ay, so thou mayest, Much.

MUCH.  That she sets new marks of all my old lady’s linen (God rest her soul!), and my young lord never had them since.

WIFE.  Out, out!  I took him them but for to whiten, as God mend me.

ELY.  Leave off this idle talk; get ye both hence.

LIT.  JOHN.  I thank your honours:  we are not in love
With being here. 
We must seek service that are masterless.

[Exeunt MUCH and LITTLE JOHN.

ELY.  Lord Prior of York, here’s your commission. 
You are best make speed, lest in his country houses,
By his appointment, all his herds be sold.

PRIOR.  I thank your honour, taking humble leave.
          
                                [Exit.

ELY.  And, Master Warman, here’s your patent sealed
For the High Sheriffwick of Nottingham;
Except the king our master do repeal
This gift of ours.

JOHN.  Let him the while possess it.