BOTH.  Through your great kindness we are comforted.

ROB.  H. And, Warman, I advise you to more mirth. 
Shun solitary walks, keep company: 
Forget your fault; I have forgiv’n the fault,
Good Warman, be more blithe; and at this time
A little help my Marian and her maid. 
Much shall come to you straight:  a little now
We must all strive to do the best we may.
                         [Exit winding.[265]

WAR.  On you and her I’ll wait until my dying day.

    [WARMAN is going out; DONCASTER pulls him.

DON.  Warman, a word.  My good Lord Prior and I
Are full of grief to see thy misery.

WAR.  My misery, Sir Doncaster? why, I thank God,
I never was in better state than now.

PRIOR.  Why, what a servile slavish mind hast thou! 
Art thou a man, and canst be such a beast,
Ass-like to bear the burthen of thy wrongs?

WAR.  What wrong have I? is’t wrong to be reliev’d?

DON.  Reliev’d, say’st thou? why, shallow-witted fool,
Dost thou not see Robin’s ambitious pride,
And how he climbs by pitying, and aspires
By humble looks, good deeds, and such fond toys,
To be a monarch reigning over us,
As if we were the vassals to his will?

WAR.  I am his vassal, and I will be still.

PRIOR.  Warman, thou art a fool.  I do confess,
Were these good deeds done in sincerity—­
Pity of mine, thine[266] or this knight’s distress,
Without vain brags—­it were true charity: 
But to relieve our fainting bodies’ wants,
And grieve our souls with quips and bitter ’braids,
Is good turns overturn’d:  no thanks we owe
To any whatsoever helps us so.

WAR.  Neither himself nor any that he keeps
Ever upbraided me, since I came last.

DON.  O God, have mercy on thee, silly ass! 
Doth he not say to every guest that comes,
This same is Warman, that was once my steward?

WAR.  And what of that?

PRIOR.  Is’t not as much to say,
Why, here he stands that once did me betray?

DON.  Did he not bring a troop to grace himself,
Like captives waiting on a conqueror’s chair,
And calling of them out by one and one,
Presented them, like fairings, to the king?[267]

PRIOR.  O, ay:  there was a rare invention. 
A plague upon the fool! 
I hate him worse for that than all the rest.

WAR.  Why should you hate him? why should you—­or you—­
Envy this noble lord thus, as you do?

DON.  Nay rather, why dost thou not join in hate
With us, that lately liv’d, like us, in wealthy state? 
Remember this, remember, foolish man,
How thou hast been the Shrieve of Nottingham.

PRIOR.  Cry to thy thoughts, let this thought never cease—­
“I have been justice of my sovereign’s peace,
Lord of fair livings; men with cap and knee
In liveries waited hourly on me.”