MAR.  Robin, I think it is my aged father. [Aside.

ROB.  H. Tell me, old man, tell me in courtesy,
Are you no other than you seem to be?

FITZ.  I am a wretched aged man, you see,
If you will do me aught for charity: 
Further than this, sweet, do not question me.

ROB.  H. You shall have your desire.  But what be these?

    Enter FRIAR TUCK and JENNY_, like pedlars, singing.

        What lack ye? what lack ye? 
        What is it you will buy? 
        Any points, pins or laces,
        Any laces, points or pins? 
        Fine gloves, fine glasses,
        Any busks or masks? 
        Or any other pretty things? 
        Come, cheap for love, or buy for money. 
        Any coney, coney-skins? 
        For laces, points or pins? 
        Fair maids, come choose or buy. 
        I have pretty poking-sticks,[207]
        And many other tricks,
        Come, choose for love, or buy for money_.

ROB.  H. Pedlar, I prythee set thy pack down here: 
Marian shall buy, if thou be not too dear.

TUCK.  Jenny, unto thy mistress show thy pack. 
Master, for you I have a pretty knack,
From far I brought, please you see to the same.

        [Exeunt ROBIN HOOD, MARIAN, and FITZWATER.

    Enter SIR DONCASTER and others, weaponed.[208]

FRIAR.  Sir Doncaster, are not we pedlar-like?

DON.  Yes, passing fit; and yonder is the bower. 
I doubt not we shall have him in our power.

FRIAR.  You and your company were best stand close.

DON.  What shall the watchword be to bring us forth?

FRIAR.  Take it, I pray, though it be much more worth: 
When I speak that aloud, be sure I serve
The execution presently on him.

DON.  Friar, look to’t.

FRIAR.  Now, Jenny, to your song. [Sings.

    Enter MARIAN, ROBIN.

MAR.  Pedlar, what pretty toys have you to sell?

FRIAR.  Jenny, unto your mistress show your ware.

MAR.  Come in, good woman. [Exeunt.

FRIAR.  Master, look here,
       And God give ear,
       So mote I the[209],
       To her and me,
       If ever we,
       Robin, to thee,
       That art so free. 
       Mean treachery.

ROB.  H. On, pedlar, to thy pack;
If thou love me, my love thou shalt not lack.

FRIAR.  Master, in brief,
       There is a thief,
       That seeks your grief. 
       God send relief
       To you in need. 
       For a foul deed,
       If not with speed
       You take good heed,
       There is decreed. 
       In yonder brake
       There lies a snake,
       That means to take
       Out of this wood
       The yeoman good,
       Call’d Robin Hood.