DON.  And when thou think’st thou hast been such and such,
Think then what ’tis to be a mate to Much? 
To run when Robin bids, come at his call,
Be Mistress Marian’s man.

PRIOR.  Nay, think withal—­

WAR.  What shall I think, but think upon my need,
When men fed dogs, and me they would not feed? 
When I despair’d through want, and sought to die,
My piteous master, of his charity,
Forgave my fault, reliev’d and saved me. 
This do I think upon; and you should think
(If you had hope of soul’s salvation)—­
First, Prior, that he is of thy flesh and blood,
That thou art uncle unto Robin Hood;
That by extortion thou didst get his lands—­
God and I know how it came to thy hands: 
How thou pursued’st him in his misery,
And how heaven plagued thy heart’s extremity. 
Think, Doncaster, when, hired by this Prior,
Thou cam’st to take my master with the Friar,
And wert thyself ta’en; how he set thee free,
Gave thee an hundred pound to comfort thee. 
And both bethink ye, how but yesterday
Wounded and naked in the field you lay;
How with his own hand he did raise your heads,
Pour’d balm into your wounds, your bodies fed,
Watch’d when ye slept, wept when he saw your woe—­

DON.  Stay, Warman, stay!  I grant that he did so;
And you, turn’d honest, have forsworn the villain?

WAR.  Even from my soul I villany defy.

PRIOR.  A blessed hour; a fit time now to die.

DON.  And you shall, conscience.

[Stabs him, WARMAN falls.

WAR.  O, forgive me, God,
And save my master from their bloody hands!

PRIOR.  What, hast thou made him sure?

DON.  It’s dead—­sure he is dead, if that be sure?

PRIOR.  Then let us thrust the dagger in his hand,
And when the next comes, cry he kill’d himself.

DON.  That must be now:  yonder comes Robin Hood. 
No life in him?

PRIOR.  No, no, not any life. 
Three mortal wounds have let in piercing air,
And at their gaps his life is clean let out.

    Enter ROBIN HOOD.

ROB.  H. Who is it, uncle, that you so bemoan?

PRIOR.  Warman, good nephew, whom Sir Doncaster and I
Found freshly bleeding, as he now doth lie. 
You were scarce gone, when he did stab himself.

ROB.  H. O God! 
He in his own hand holds his own heart’s hurt: 
I dreaded, too, much his distressed look. 
Belike the wretch despair’d, and slew himself.

DON.  Nay. that’s most sure:  yet he had little reason,
Considering how well you used him.

ROB.  H. Well, I am sorry, but must not be sad,
Because the king is coming to my bower. 
Help me, I pray thee, to remove his body,
Lest he should come and see him murdered. 
Some time anon he shall be buried.

    [Exeunt ROBIN HOOD and SIR DONCASTER with the body.[268]