FRIAR.  Sir Doncaster the priest and the proud Prior
Are stripp’d and wounded in the way to Bawtrey,
And if there go not speedy remedy,
They’ll die, they’ll die in this extremity.

ROB.  H. Alas! direct us to that wretched place: 
I love mine uncle, though he hateth me.

FRIAR.  My weed I cast to keep them from the cold,
And Jenny, gentle girl, tore all her smock
The bloody issue of their wounds to stop.

ROB.  H. Will you go with us, my good Lord of Ely?

ELY.  I will, and ever praise thy perfect charity.

[Exeunt.

    Enter PRINCE JOHN solus, in green:  with bow and arrows.

JOHN.  Why, this is somewhat like:  now may I sing,
As did the Wakefield Pinder in his note—­

    At Michaelmas cometh my covenant out,
      My master gives me my fee: 
    Then, Robin, I’ll wear thy Kendal green,
      And wend to the greenwood with thee.[238]

But for a name now:  John it must not be,
Already Little John on him attends: 
Greenleaf?  Nay, surely there’s such a one already: 
Well, I’ll be Woodnet, hap what happen may.

    Enter SCATHLOCK.

Here comes a green coat (good luck be my guide)
Some sudden shift might help me to provide.

SCATH.  What, fellow William, did you meet our master?

JOHN.  I did not meet him yet, my honest friend.

SCATH.  My honest friend! why, what a term is here? 
My name is Scathlock, man, and if thou be
No other than thy garments show to me,
Thou art my fellow, though I know thee not. 
What is thy name?  When wert thou entertain’d?

JOHN.  My name is Woodnet; and this very day
My noble master, Earl of Huntington,
Did give me both my fee and livery.

SCATH.  Your noble master, Earl of Huntington! 
I’ll lay a crown you are a counterfeit,
And that, you know, lacks money of a noble. 
Did you receive your livery and fee,
And never heard our orders read unto you? 
What was the oath was given you by the Friar?

JOHN.  Who?—­Friar Tuck?

SCATH.  Ay, do not play the liar,
For he comes here himself to shrive.

    Enter FRIAR TUCK.

JOHN.  Scathlock, farewell; I will away.

SCATH.  See you this arrow? it says nay. 
Through both your sides shall fly this feather,
If presently you come not hither.

FRIAR.  Now heaven’s true liberality
Fall ever for his charity
Upon the head of Robin Hood,
That to his very foes doth good. 
Lord God! how he laments the Prior,
And bathes his wounds against the fire. 
Fair Marian, God requite it her,
Doth even as much for Doncaster,
Whom newly she hath lain in bed,
To rest his weary, wounded head.

SCATH.  Ho!  Friar Tuck, know you this mate?

FRIAR.  What’s he?