PRIOR.  Good! all is good! this is as I desire: 
Now for a face of pure hypocrisy. 
Sweet murder, clothe thee in religious weeds,
Reign in my bosom, that with help of thee
I may effect this Robin’s tragedy.

    Enter ROBIN HOOD and SIR DONCASTER.

DON.  Nay, nay, you must not take this thing so heavily.

ROB.  H. A body’s loss, Sir Doncaster, is much;
But a soul’s too is more to be bemoan’d.

PRIOR.  Truly I wonder at your virtuous mind. 
O God, to one so kind who’d be unkind! 
Let go this grief:  now must you put on joy,
And for the many favours I have found,
So much exceeding all conceit of mine,
Unto your cheer I’ll add a precious drink,
Of colour rich and red, sent me from Rome,
There’s in it moly,[269] Syrian balsamum,
Gold’s rich elixir; O, ’tis precious!

ROB.  H. Where is it, uncle?

PRIOR.  As yesterday
Sir Doncaster and I rid on our way,
Thieves did beset us, bound us, as you saw,
And among other things did take from me
This rich confection:  but regardlessly,
As common drink, they cast into a bush
The bottle, which this day Sir Doncaster
Fetch’d, and hath left it in the inner lodging. 
I tell you, nephew (I do love you well). 
A pint of this ransom’d the Sophy’s son
When he was taken in Natolia. 
I meant, indeed, to give it my liege lord,
In hope to have his favour; but to you
I put myself:  be my good friend,
And, in your own restoring me restore.

ROB.  H. Uncle, I will; you need urge that no more. 
But what’s the virtue of this precious drink?

PRIOR.  It keeps fresh youth, restores diseased sight,
Helps nature’s weakness, smooths the scars of wounds,
And cools the entrails with a balmy breath,
When they, by thirst or travail, boil with heat.

ROB.  H. Uncle, I thank you:  pray you, let me have
A cup prepared ’gainst the king comes in,
To cool his heat:  myself will give it him.

PRIOR.  And when he drinks, be bold to say, he drinks
A richer draught than that dissolved pearl,
Which Cleopatra drank to Antony.

ROB.  H. I have much business:  let it be your charge
To make this rich draught ready for the king,
And I will quit it; pray ye, do not fail.
                                     [Exit.

PRIOR.  I warrant you, good nephew.

DON.  Better and better still! 
We thought before but to have poison’d him,
And now shall Robin Hood destroy the king. 
Even when the king, the queen, the prince, the lords,
Joy in his virtues, this supposed vice
Will turn to sharp hate their exceeding love.

PRIOR.  Ha, ha, ha!  I cannot choose but laugh,
To see my cousin cozen’d in this sort. 
Fail him, quoth you; nay, hang me if I do. 
But, Doncaster, art sure the poisons are well-mix’d?

DON.  Tut, tut! let me alone for the poisoning: 
I have already turn’d o’er four or five,
That anger’d[270] me.  But tell me, Prior,
Wherefore so deadly dost thou hate thy cousin?